Baldur's Gate
by TheStoryWizard
Summary: Zaram Maldovar is a pyro-obsessed sorcerer looking for adventure, but when his foster father is slain and he is thrown waist deep into a crisis that engulfs two whole nations, Zaram gets more than he bargained for. Join Zaram and his companions as they journey to save the Sword Coast. Co-Written with Heashfox.
1. Prologue

**AN: Hey everyone, TheStoryWizard here. I know I've been absent a long time, but I've had a lot happen in my life lately. I've taken a long time to come up with something really good to write and once I finally did I no longer had very much free time to write it anymore. I just got my first job and it takes up most of my time and I also recently lost my father in December. Life hasn't been easy for me but I'm back now and while I can't promise that I'll upload on here very often, I'm going to try to give you guys good content as often as I can.**

 **Baldur's Gate**

 **Prologue**

The realms of Toril are littered with many a fine city, but few are as a large and as regal as the legendary bustling Tradeport of Spire. Three times larger than Waterdeep, Spire boasted nearly fifty districts, a massive seaport and well over twenty guilds possessing a global charter. If one wished to make a name for themselves in their trade, Spire was an excellent place to start and over the last several decades the stories of unbridled success and untold riches began to earn it the well-deserved title of the City of Golden Dreams. One can find all manner of folk in Spire going about their day to day business from shopping for goods, buying fresh fruit and vegetables from the many fields or the daily catch from the bounty of the sea in the marketplace, trading goods in the many merchant stalls, or going to many of the cultural events happening throughout the day. Even at night, the city comes to life with golden light from all of the many lit lanterns and magical orbs that make the city glitter against the sea. That is the beauty of Spire but even a rose like Spire has its thorns, places of wicked splendor that belie their true nature. In places like these there are many kinds of folk that can be found; perhaps even those of a peculiar or dark nature.

The streets were still and the sea's thick fog blanketed the silent alleyways of the slums as a lone figured dressed in black and silver in a dark purple cloak with a red lining walked through the silent streets on his way to the Black Ram Tavern. His demeanor was regal yet imposing as he walked with sure steps as if the ground he tread upon was created for him and him alone. His look was that of a nobleman of many considerable years spent living a rich and privileged life. His clothing was made of the most expensive materials gold could buy, his boots made from the finest leather, several rings worth hundreds of gold were on his fingers and a jeweled longsword at his hip told a story of privilege and high born status. Despite his appearance, however, the man seemed to have no qualms about walking into the darkest shadows of the city, into a place where few went and even fewer returned: Shadow's End.

A dark smile crossed his face as he made his way to the lone tavern in the darkest part of the golden city. Several children ran for cover in the wake of the nobleman; they were just more human debris left over from one of the many small wars in the area. But to the nobleman, they could be used as test subjects for any number of experiments magical or otherwise. In Spire there was section of the city's lower slums where the worst of the worst, the lowest of the low: thieves, cutthroats, highwaymen, loan sharks, fences, and murderers dwelt in the shadows doing the bidding of their dark masters, or up to their own evil deeds, it was Shadow's End. It was a place where the good go to die and evil breeds. Filled to the brim with the refuse of the civilized world, the one place no creature of good virtue or intention would dare set foot without just cause. It was a dark place created by the greed of nobles that had turned a blind eye towards the suffering of their fellow men and the home of those that would kill to see the light of a new day. Yet here was a lone man who looked of great worth and noble status heading to the only tavern in Shadow's End, where one could make the darkest of deals. In the light of truth, however; he was far darker than even this ungodly place.

It was not long before he had arrived at his destination, the Black Ram, where there were three men of somewhat dubious nature guarding the door of the tavern. Two of these men were dressed in black with dark-colored cloaks concealing thick studded leather armor and the weapons they carried. The two armed guards were on either side of the large wooden door, both of the men were tall with narrow rat-like faces, the one on the left had a head of dirty blonde hair while the one on the right had short greasy black hair. Both men had several old scars marring their dark features but the one on the right side of the door had an eye patch concealing part of a fresh scar. The scar went down the left side of his face starting at his forehead and ending halfway down his cheek. No doubt his left eye was damaged beyond repair but the man didn't seem like he minded that fact as he eyed the new arrival with the fierce gaze of his remaining dark blue eye.

The third guard was much younger than the other two by ten or so years and by the way he seemed unnerved with someone approaching without escort or a care in the world considering where the four men were currently standing. The other guards looked like they had seen at least 30 or so winters with 15 of them being in fights as mercenaries and guild rats. They were too scruffy and unkempt to be working for any high-level guild or organization or to have any type of status or power. Just more sellsword trash to be used and thrown away when they outlived their usefulness. The young boy, on the other hand, was the sellsword's opposite in every way. He was tall and of average build and he appeared to be well fed and seemed to be getting some form of exercise or physical training, his hair was dark brown, short and spiky but well taken care of, his clothing was of a fine nature and very clean, but what told the dark man the most about him were his eyes. Those large green eyes wide with fear and uncertainty were the eyes of an apprentice mage of some noble bloodline, a minor one but noble nonetheless.

"Do you fear me that much boy? You don't even know who I am and you fear me. Normally I would tell you that is a foolish thing as you have given away the level of power you have and how weak your resolve is but in this case you have right to fear me." The cloaked man said with a dark grin on his face.

"Who 'de 'ell are you, ye git? This Tavern is closed for private business t'night. Git yer' 'igh classed noble arse outta' 'ere and find yer' cheap bar wench honey hole some somewhere else. Iffen' ya don't I'm 'fraid yer' going to be robbed n' dead in some back alley" The guard on the left shouted as he reached for his long sword, brandishing it at the cloaked figure. "Who in 'de nine 'ells do ye, think you are trottin' round Shadow's End like 'ye own 'de place? Yer lucky I don't slit 'yer throat meself!"

"Darths, cool your head, you want to lose this job for us? He may be the one we're supposed to let in. Think before you speak next time, fool." The dark-haired guard spoke before he eyed the cloaked figure harder. "Lentorm, stop shaking boy. Do you wish to embarrass the Chief with your cowardly behavior? Check out the cloaked man and ask him his business here. Be quick about it boy we don't have all night in this hell of a place!"

"Y-YES SIR!" the young man shouted before covering his mouth.

"Lentorm get your shit together. We don't have all night. The Chief and the others are waiting. Get on with it boy before I give you something to truly be afraid of, **the back of my hand!** "

"Sorry Zark, sir. I'm just… I mean it's my first field mission. I'll get on with it, sir." Lentorm muttered nervously. Before taking a few deep breaths to calm himself. Once he had himself composed Lentorm approached the hooded man. "If you are here for the meeting then show me the proof of your invitation."

"Well, you seem to have found your nerve now. I'm impressed with you, boy. I see great things for you should you make the right decisions and allies in the future." The hooded man said with a cool tone before pulling his hood down and smiling sincerely at the boy. "Remember my face well, remember this moment for you stand in the presence of greatness." The nobleman said as he reached into his cloak and removed a coin that he tossed to Lentorm. "This is all the proof of who I am and what business I have here. Do take care of that coin though; I'd hate to see it lost before you have time to spend it's value anywhere of importance."

Lentorm caught the coin and looked it over for a few moments before he grew wide-eyed and shook violently. In his hand was a golden coin but unlike the hundreds of coins, he had seen this one was stamped with black metal in the form of a black scepter emitting green rays on a gold disc, clutched in the talons of a black wyrm. On the back of the coin was an etching of three eyes in a triangle with a staff in the center, it was the secret symbol of the order.

"It's you… you are really here!" Lentorm said in surprise before he stumbled back over to Zark and Darths as he stuttered his reply he wildly gestured to the nobleman and the coin he held up to the two confused guards.

After a few moments of whispered replies and several loud curses from Darths and Zark, the young rogue knocked on the door of the tavern three times. A small block in the door opened and Zark whispered something to the large man behind it. After a moment the block was closed and the door was opened.

Lentorm walked back over to the nobleman with a look of awe and admiration as he informed him that all was ready for his meeting. "It's all cleared for you, sir. Please forgive us for not noticing it was you earlier I wish we had been properly informed that it was you coming here. I hope that we haven't ruined your evening too much with our lack of foresight or manners."

"Ha ha ha, you have nothing to apologize for, mistakes at your level are to be expected. Your two senior members, on the other hand, have much to answer for. I hope that you take what will happen to them to heart and learn a very valuable lesson from it. I will see you in the _future_ , Lentorm and when I do I hope you have become a much wiser man by then." The Nobleman said as he gave the boy a pat on the head before entering the tavern.

As the nobleman passed by the scowling door guards he smirked and wagged his finger at them in a disapproving manner. Both mercenaries scoffed then swore under their breaths knowing full well that their little show of force earlier was going to going to cost them dearly.

The nobleman walked through the main room of the tavern, it was filled with about 20 men in light armor drinking and having merriment. All of them working for one of the five individuals he had come to see. As soon as the nobleman entered the tavern proper all of the boisterous laughter and shouts died out leaving nothing but silence as all eyes were upon him. It was at this moment all in the tavern were scrambling to bow or make some gesture of loyalty as the man passed by them and headed towards the private room in the back. The tavern's owner, a massive man who barely fit the description of a human with arms as large as tree trunks and scars all the way across the left side of his body scrambled to open the door as even he bowed in reverence towards the mysterious figure. As he did so, the large ruby that had replaced his left eye twinkled in the darkness, this was a man who demanded the respect of all around him and even he seemed to betray a hint of fear in the presence of the tavern's newest visitor.

"Enjoy the accommodations, sir" The man spoke with unwavering respect. "If you and your associates require anything at all, I will gladly be of assistance."

The man simply smiled as he held up a hand. "Your hospitality is appreciated, Rubyeye. Rest assured that your cooperation will be greatly rewarded. At the moment, however, I require only that this meeting goes undisturbed. I am quite certain that you are capable of this, yes?"

"O-of course, without fail, sir. It shall be as you have asked." Rubyeye said with a bit of fear showing in his voice before he walked over and opened the door to the back room. The man walked in with unwavering confidence. After the man had passed through the door Rubyeye closed it behind him and placed a strange charm on the nail at the top of the door. It was a protection and sound nullification charm, once in place, it would protect the room as well as keep anyone outside from hearing anything going inside no matter what it was.

* * *

In the back room of the Black Ram sat five members of a secret order waiting for their leader who had summoned them for some damnable plan he was hoping to hatch. All of them were in some off-color mood and far from pleased about being summoned to Spire let alone to the worst section of it.

Sitting on the far left of the large meeting table was the half-elf Quartermaster of the order, Lizabeck Silverblood. The woman reeked of bureaucracy and rightly so as it was her main power. As Quartermaster for the order, there was no trade route or supply chain for the order or it's linked secret organization that she didn't know about. Lizabeck was one of two people in the order that had the power to hasten, stop, or just made a shipment disappear. She was a tall thin woman of 45 summers but due to her elvish nature, she looked as if she were all but 20 summers old. Her hair was dyed purple kept in a bun with a silver clip in the shape of an oak leaf, her style of dress was mostly conservative but she did show a few of her womanly curves, as seduction was a standard business practice when it came to difficult clients. She had a smooth angular face with high cheekbones, slightly pointed ears, a small pert nose, full red lips, and large expressive eyes. She sat in her chair with straight posture holding a mug of un-drank ale as her piercing blue eyes were trained on the door waiting for someone to finally show, doing little to hide her boredom and impatience.

Next to Lizabeck was Torebroic Starhammer, He was the Stone Dwarf Weapons Master of the order. Torebroic was a hard man forged by fire and hammer just like the weapons he made for the order and its allies. Being a dwarf of 158 hard winters in the snowy mountains nearly a hundred of which were spent at the forge he was left with dark brown leathery skin covering hard corded muscles created from long hours smithing many a weapon and suits of armor. Torebroic had a rather square and hard face with a chiseled jaw, thick nose, deep set dark brown eyes with thick bushy eyebrows and a very prominent forehead. His black hair was thick and bristly but cut short in the front to protect it from the fire, his beard was long, jet black, and well maintained with several gold charms in it, Dwarven pride made sure that his beard was always looking its best. Like most dwarves of the stony mountain keeps, Torebroic was a man who dressed for the purpose in front of him, so his clothing was always simple and the best suited to the weather at the time. Torebroic was a man of few words with a quiet almost monk-like demeanor letting his actions speak for him much more effectively. Unless a long night in a tavern with large amounts of ale or hard spirits were involved. In that respect, he was like all dwarves: loud, talkative, and often a boisterous singer of old war songs. On this night, however, he sat eerily silent and sported a stern look on his worn face. He drank deep from his mug leaving the hearty meal before him untouched. He was already well into his ninth hard ale of the night and had no intention of stopping any time soon.

In the third seat facing the head of the table was the Loremaster of the order, a dark smiling gnome known by the name of Darkmali. The three-foot tall gnome looked to only be 80 or 90 winters old but was entering his 290th winter later that year. Being a Loremaster and high-level mage in some well-respected circles of mage craft and a few unclean ones had let Darkmali keep his youth far longer than any gnome should. Only a few wrinkles showed on the reddish tan skin of his face while his long, thick snowy white hair had touches of gray at the sides framing his face which was in direct contrast to his unscrupulous facial features. He had a long sharply pointed nose, thin lips, high cheekbones, thin eyebrows over glittering orange eyes and both of his long sharply pointed ears had a knick in them which gave him an eerie and sinister look. Darkmali was in his usual clothing of just black and brown robes, he had never been seen dressed any other way. The sinister gnome sat at the table leafing through several ancient tomes he had brought with a rather irritated look on his dark face.

Sitting to the right of Darkmali was the order's tiefling Master Spy and Information Broker, Salreth Goldenhand. Salreth was a man dripping with charisma and honeyed words, being a tiefling he had to be a charming man to get people to look past his demonic heritage. Salreth was a lithe man of six feet in height with a toned physique, he was devilishly handsome with features that looked chiseled from expensive marble. He was adored by the fairer sex for his raven black hair. It was a casual jumble sometimes but mostly neat and flowing beneath his smooth goat-like horns which were always adorned with gold or silver bands. His crescent moon eyebrows were thin and narrow. He carried an imperious nose well and his angular cheekbones carved down towards a flinty jaw. His solid mariner-blue eyes were orb round and darted constantly gleaming with the delight and vigor of youth. They shone brightly, like two sapphires. Everyone commented on his vivacious character and his gentle nature. His voice could be loud when he was booming out a guffaw but it was normally mellifluous to the point of causing a common woman and even a fair few noble women to swoon at hearing him call out their names. Salreth's manner of dress was just as breathtaking as his looks as he wore nothing but the finest of imported silks and fabrics, he even had a team of personal tailors and seamstresses to create for him the latest in fashion. His luxurious choice in clothing along with his personal grooming and use of loamy exotic colognes had many swooning in the night. Salreth was dressing in another of his style teams personal picks, he was in a French style white silk foppish shirt, with a dark purple doublet and royal blue trim, dark purple trousers with french style pleats to the cuffs, fine black leather boots buffed to a high finish and a silk hat with a large dark blue feather on its left side. He was wearing four gold bands on his horns, four rather expensive ruby and emerald rings, and three gold bands on the last six inches of his tail.

"I'm not one to discount our little band of merry members talents when it comes to shadow work, but I do hate being drug away from important business of a personal nature for this impromptu meeting. I could be gathering so many wonderful secrets or just having fun don't you think so Trugg, my dear friend?" Salreth asked the less than pleased half-orc to his right

"Salreth spare me your whining about being here. I had a night of warring and listening to the lamentations of my foes women planned. Whatever we have been summoned for better be worth it and it better happen soon!" Trugg retorted as he slammed his fist on the table shaking it in its entirety.

Trugg Truecrush was the order's Chief Bounty Hunter and Head Enforcer. A half-orc of goliath proportions, Trugg was nearly eight feet tall and two foot wide at the shoulders. Years of fighting, training, and hunting the scum of the earth had given him the strength of a small giant, he was muscles on muscles, a true force to be reckoned with. Being of orcish descent and living a hard life gave Trugg a imposing face, he had a thick prominent forehead, his dark red hair was long and untamed most of the time, his jawline was hard, his nose was large and almost squarish, his large green eyes were deep set with thick expressive eyebrows and his ruddy brown skin was covered in numerous scars. The scariest thing about his facial features were his large fearsome tusks, while he had never been too proud of his Orc heritage Trugg prided himself on how intimidating his tusks were. With a dark smile, he could make hardened mercenaries cry like lost children, a feat that would take something as monstrous as a dragon or an army of fire giants to accomplish normally. Like any self-respecting bounty hunter Trugg dressed the part of a man of force and power, he always wore some form of light to medium armor, iron gauntlets and his great ax, Deathbringer. If seen without his dark and dread-inducing armor he wore just a simple tunic, daring anyone to question the unceremonious gray rags that in the eyes of many barely counted as clothing.

"Trugg must you always be so orcish in your hobbies outside of lusting after me? I do wish you would be more refined in your personal pursuits outside of warring and the lamentations of wives mourning husbands and sons you have helped to the afterlife." Lizabeck teased as she eyed Trugg with a playful smirk. Trugg's discomfort was something that she could use to pass the time giving the right motivations and teasing comments.

"War is a part of life, Lizabeck and Trugg is a man who knows his true calling. Don't deny him that or would you have me go days on end without the forge or a drop of ale?" Torebroic asked glaring at the half-elf who just rolled her eyes and waved the dwarf off.

"Simple pleasures are for simple minds; but you would know that well wouldn't you, Lizabeck?. I know well the simple pleasures you would seek if Trugg would spend more time chasing you them the thrill of battle. Torebroic speaks truly when he asked that you not deny Trugg his pleasure of war. I for one would love to see Trugg at his best it would give me a simple pleasure." The dark gnome said with sinister laughter before turning to Salreth. "Come to think of it Salreth wouldn't calling a meeting like this give you the simple pleasure of taking from us the secrets you crave?"

"If any of you are the reason for this meeting to spoil my night I will…" Trugg never finished his sentence as the door swung upon ceremoniously and the quiet yet imposing footsteps of the robed man filled the room. In an instant, the scuffle between the five was silenced as each turned towards the sound and sat straight up in the seats as a sign of respect towards the approaching figure.

"Well, now I see I have come at a bad time. Please Trugg, my dear man, finish what you were saying. I do so want to hear what you will do if it was one of them that called my little meeting." the new arrival said in a playful tone.

Trugg's eyes widened in fear as the man spoke. "Cal-Calinforth… I meant nothing by it. Pay me no mind." he said quickly before standing up and bowing to the leader of the First Order and then returning to his seat, his entire body shaking slightly in response to the man's imposing presence.

"Are there any other objections to this meeting? Please feel free to voice them now and know that I will not be displeased if there are, just allow me a moment to alleviate your concerns. So are there any others objections?" Calinforth asked with a raised eyebrow and off-color smile.

The other four order members all looked at each other than to a still visibly shaken Trugg before they all shook their heads. It was unwise to object even if they had valid reasons as Calinforth was not a man they wanted to anger even in the slightest. All comments would be held for another time preferably when Calinforth wasn't in earshot.

"Well with that out of the way we can begin," Calinforth said with a dark smile before he removed his cloak, he hung it on the back of his chair, so he would have access to the items he need for the meeting hidden within it, and took his seat at the head of the table.

Calinforth was a human man of some 45 autumns and as a man entering into the twilight of human years he didn't look it. For a man soon to be half a century old, he looked surprisingly strong and youthful. His light brown hair was only slightly graying in the front and sides, It was still cut short and well groomed due mostly to his station and status as a noble. His face bore several of the wrinkled lines of a man who had lived and learned some hard lessons many of those dealing with magic and his early lack of understanding of the intricacies of the arcane arts. He had a well defined but pointed chin with a slightly rugged jawline, his nose was slightly broad but fit his reasonably angular face and average eyebrows sat above grey-blue eyes that shone with intelligence, a fearsome dark intelligence that seemed to consume all that he laid eyes upon. Even with the look of a man born to be a leader his greatest power lay in his inexhaustible charm. To say Calinforth was simply charming was an understatement, for he was much more than that as he was rumored to have charmed a Succubus into becoming his servant just to test the limits of his abilities. Charm, intelligence, presence, wealth, power, and influence were all words that described Calinforth and were the core of his character. With all of this he had become the 32nd Elder Leader of the First Order and now he was beginning a bid for even greater power.

"I know that all of you had other plans this evening but I have called you here because I have some important news about the item we have been searching for. Each of you will play a rather important role when the time comes but rest assured that all will be rewarded once we have the item of legend." Calinforth told the others as he folded his hands together.

"Surely you mean this as a jest Calinforth, I mean it is unlikely that an item of that power would just suddenly show up and be ripe for the taking? Even I have not heard any of the larger magic organizations good, evil, or neutral, if such a thing were possible, whispering about something of that magnitude. So how have you come by this information?" Salreth asked as the implications of his leader's words did not bode well for the order in the long run. If Calinforth had found the ultimate weapon of magic then the goals of the First Order to reshape the universe at its very core were closer than ever before. Even so, the danger it would entail would be beyond anything the order had ever faced or would ever face.

Darkmali just broke out into uproarious laughter for a brief moment before turning to Salreth. "Please do tell me another funny jest like that Sareth I find them oh so entertaining." the very irritated tiefling just rolled his eyes at the gnome before turning his attention back to the head of the table.

"What nothing to say to that? Oh, you are soured by my words? Well, then you will find this amusing as I have sensed a great stirring in the arcane energies that make what Calinforth said ring true. This is no jest fool, but fact. I cannot locate the item in question but having to acknowledge the power of our leader I can tell you he has already done so."

Calinforth just smiled at the gnome's praise knowing full well how maddening it must for the Loremaster to be bested by a wizard he thought inferior to him. "Yes, I have located it and doing so was no easy task. It took a considerable amount of time and resources to do so. I had to make a few deals and use up some very important favors but It will all pay off when our goals are finally realized."

"If you have found it why even bother to summon us? You could have just gone and gotten it, right?" Trugg asked not even bothering to mask his annoyance at the situation.

"If I already had possession of the weapon, Trugg you wouldn't be sitting here asking that but kneeling before me as I sat at the highest pinnacle of power. The fact I can't get to it is the reason why I called you here in the first place. We need an individual or several individuals with a particular set of skills and powers to brave the danger of the Shattered Realm to retrieve it." Calinforth informed Trugg with a matter-of-fact tone.

"You can't be serious! The Shattered Realm is just a fairytale, something that wizards and other mages tell one another like a ghost story. There is no way it's real or that a weapon of that type of legendary power would be in a place like that!" Torebroic said as he slammed his empty mug on the table. "I have heard the tales like all young dwarves do, that the Shattered Realm was once the Garden of Elisfire the birthplace of all high magic and where the Sacred Flame of the Forge was born but it was torn asunder when the All God smote those that would steal magic beyond magic. If it's real that place would be worse than the Nine Hells and the Plane of Chaos combined. No man would be able to brave it and live to tell about it."

"Yes, those stories are true my dear Torebroic. I have read all of the legends on the Garden of Elisfire and its powers. It was a place of pure arcane force where magic was born and it is the place where a weapon with a power beyond even the gods resides. I have searched for it since I was but a boy and now my friends we are so close to unlocking its secrets and restoring the Garden of Elisfire to its former glory. All we need to do is retrieve the weapon and it's power as well as the garden's magic will be ours." Calinforth told the disbelieving dwarf before pulling a fist-sized crystal ball from his cloak and rolling it over to Torebroic. "Here is all the proof you will need Forge Master this crystal will show what I know to be true."

Torebroic picked up the crystal as it rolled to a stop in front of him. As he looked at the clear orb as it began to cloud over in white smoke until an image of a partially shattered stone gate of gargantuan proportions with large iron doors came into focus. The gateway was carved from some type of marble-like stone as far as Torebroic could tell. The stone and metal work was ancient but still in good condition even if part of the gateway was missing, but what got his attention about the gateway were the dwarven runes carved into its masonry work. It was the work of the first Dwarven Masons, the metal work on the iron doors, the etchings, the gold and brass filigree, and the doors themselves were the work of the first Forgemasters, the dwarfs that brought back the first forge's flame from the Garden of Elisfire. This was the gate, or what was left of it, to the Shattered Realm, the graveyard of what was left of the Garden of Elisfire. The legends were all true and the ultimate weapon of power forged by his ancestors in the flames of the first-star fire was ripe for the First Order to take it.

"By Gauldur the Red's beard, it can't be true even as my eyes see and read the runes, I cannot believe it! The birthplace of magic beyond magic and home of the first dwarves is real and you found it! Surely I must be drunk and dreaming." Torebroic bellowed as he stared at the crystal ball with tears in his eyes.

"Torebroic's disbelief aside there's still a bigger question yet to be answered. If we need someone or a group of someones of a high caliber, I take it you have this person or party of people in mind and that they are controllable to a point?" Lizabeck asked wanting to know more.

"Yes, I have," Calinforth answered promptly. "However, we may have a slight problem."

"What problem is that? I find it hard to believe that you would have trouble finding someone or even a group for that matter that would be worthy enough to go on a suicide mission for you with a smile on their faces. So what trouble could there really be?" Trugg again asked with a voice full of displeasure.

"Even with lands full of adventurers, Trugg there are only a small few that possess the skills, items, and magic to brave places as dangerous as the Shattered Realm and even less that would do it for the order without wanting something in return," Darkmali remarked with a sour look on his face.

"Do you think me foolish, Darkmali? I know this well for I have killed many an adventurer in my time, I know the skills that many of them boast of, so why is it so hard to believe that no one has ever tried to get this so-called weapon yet? Why should there be a problem with finding someone dumb enough to try for the right amount of gold? Even you seem to be afraid to try or are you just that lackluster in power and knowledge compared to Calinforth?" Trugg asked the now angry gnome.

Before Darkmali could answer with a venomous reply Calinforth silenced the whole argument. "Enough, both of you! If I wished to watch the two of you bicker why would I waste a perfectly good night or tavern of this caliber to do so?" The half-orc and gnome both stared at each other with contempt before turning back to their leader who seemed less than pleased with them. Both members gave quick apologies then Calinforth continued. "There is a problem but it is easily solved by all of you being on the lookout for selected individuals. I have a list for all of you of various areas and cities of the world like Blingdenstone, Calimport, Nashkel, Luskan, Glister, Candlekeep, Evereska, Athkatla, Mulmaster, Ravens Bluff and Waterdeep to name a few." Calinforth told the other order members before tossing all of them two scrolls each. The first was a list of names of the various people they would be on the lookout for and the second scroll was a list of areas and cities that their targets were known to frequent.

"As you go about your day to day cover jobs make sure to observe them closely taking note of their skills and with them if you must but never let them know why you are so curious about them. Report all of your findings back to me at regular intervals and we shall see who will be our chosen adventurers to secure our legacy of power." Calinforth said with a dark smile. "Are there any further questions?"

"I have two questions, what will we do with all of the adventurers that don't make the cut?" Trugg asked.

"Nothing or whatever you like, they are of no use to us if they don't have what it takes to get us the item. And the second question, Trugg?"

"What will we do with the adventurers that are worthy and bring back the weapon to you?"

"Why kill them of course. Once we have the weapon it will take some time before we can unlock its true power. Naturally, the party that will retrieve the item will need to disappear as we don't want anyone finding out about it until it is too late to stop us. Darkmali will get them first for his experiments and study them under strict supervision but after that, if any of them survive you may kill them. I will leave the final details of the party's ultimate fate and disposal to you, Trugg. You may do whatever you wish to them just make sure that none of them survive it and bring me proof that the deed is done afterward."

"Very well Calinforth I look forward to your ascension into a power beyond the Gods and all of the havoc we will sow before and after," Trugg said before raising his mug in a toast. The others after refilling or pouring themselves a mug of ale followed suit.

"To Calinforth Elder Leader of the First Order, Long may he reign as a God above Gods!" All of the members of the order toasted as Calinforth watched with a smug look on his face.

"Thank you, my friends, I will reward all of you when the time comes for me to ascend. All who have served me well will find riches and powers beyond their wildest imaginations in my new kingdom." Calinforth happily replied as he raised his mug and clanked it into the others before they all drank deep. "There is one last bit of business before fore we adjourn for the night. The two men and the young boy out in front guarding the door, to which of you do they find themselves employed?"

The five senior members of the First Order turned towards Calinforth before whispering amongst themselves, clearly one of them had made a very grave mistake but only one of them was truly aware of just how dire their circumstances had become. Slowly and unwillingly, Darkmali raised a shriveled hand in confirmation towards his leader but said nothing.

"I see, well it may come as a shock to you but your two men minus the boy are, how should I say this? They are brutish, vulgar, ill-mannered, and worst of all stupid beyond any reason to let them live." Calinforth said with his eyes narrowed and focused on the dark gnome who just shrunk away from the glare. "While I see value in the boy Lentorm as he could be of use given the right teachers and access to magical knowledge, those two guards of yours, Darths and Zark are far too ignorant and unskilled to be of any use without being a danger to our goals. Darkmali, since they are employed by you it must be you that rectifies their folly in judgment. I leave to you to decide a worthy punishment for their numerous transgressions ."

"Ri-right away Calinforth, I will see that they are made into an example of what not to do," Darkmali said quickly as he readied himself to do just that.

"No, I want it done now and in front of the whole tavern. I will not have any of those under our command think they may do as they please without consequences. You will put them to death as it was your fault they have committed such crimes against the First Order or would like to take their place on the execution block?" Calinforth asked with a calm tone to his voice.

Darkmali froze in place as the color drained from his face and he dropped the tomes he had been picking up from the table. this was not happening, how could he have been so stupid? How did Calinforth see through his plan? He had covered his tracks, he had hired those idiots and even blanked their memories of the dark suggestion he had placed in their minds and yet they had failed to do their job. They should have attacked him on site and wounded him slightly, nothing fatal just enough to get Calinforth to become paranoid and needy of more loyal followers like Darkmali himself. No, Calinforth's presence alone had seen that his two well-placed daggers had failed to hit their mark and now Darkmali was going to have to save face by playing the loyal dog. He was not Trugg nor would he ever bow and scrape like the half-breed because, in the long run, he would be the one ascending to the power of God of Gods if he played his cards right.

"Y-yes at once. I will make sure that all know the fate of those that displease you." Darkmali said as he scurried away to make Calinforth's wishes known.

After Darkmali left the room the others filed out into the tavern to see that all of the tables and chairs had been arranged into a large circle with two chairs in the center. All of the hardened mercenaries in the room looked frightened or forlorn as they sat at the tables or stood by waiting for something to happen.

Calinforth had taken a seat at the table facing the two chairs with the rest of the order's senior members, minus Darkmali, sitting with him. The leader of the First Order seemed pleased with the setup and his dark smile only grew as two of Trugg's men dragged a very beaten and bloody Darths and Zark into the tavern. After a few curses and empty threats, the two battered humans were placed rather roughly into the two chairs. Moments later Lentorm walked in with Darkmali who told the boy to stand next to Calinforth and to watch everything that was to happen.

"I told you two that you would have much to answer for; and Lentorm, do make sure to watch what happens well as this is an important lesson for your future," Calinforth said without taking his mirthful eyes off of the two bloody guards. "You may begin and make sure they scream. I do so love it when they scream and curse my name as they die."

Darkmali just nodded as he walked between the two chairs before he reached into his robes and pulled out two vials that contained small centipede-like creatures. The black and red insectoid creatures were wriggling and squirming around in the vials as they made an eerie buzzing noise and clicked their mandibles together. The dark gnome smiled at the two men before speaking. "You have two choices you can kill yourselves or you can take what's coming to you for daring to harm our venerable leader. What do you choose, humans?"

Before Darths or Zark could plead for their lives Trugg's men grabbed them and slammed them to the floor. Holding both men in a death grip they forced the two screaming and cursing humans to turn their heads to the side. Darkmali kneeled between the two men opening the vials before pouring the insects on the cheeks of the men. The insectoids wasted no time in crawling towards the eyes of their victims. In Zark's case the creature went under his eyepatch, the whole time it made the strange buzzing noise and rapidly clicked its mandibles. Both men screamed and begged for mercy but those cries fell on deaf ears, no one dared to try and stop this nor did they look away for this was the fate of all who dared challenge Calinforth.

Soon the creatures vanished into the eye sockets and behind the eyes of their victims, there was a moment of quiet as the two men stopped thrashing and just lay still. After what seemed like forever both men let out a blood-curdling scream and threw off the two guards holding them down. They frantically clawed at their own faces as if trying to tear them off as their veins stood up and their skin began turning black. Both men started dancing around in large circles as if on fire and screamed for the pain to stop cursing Calinforth to the Nine Hells for their fate. It seemed as if they would drop dead from the lack of air when the first signs of a truly darker fate began to surface.

Darths was the first to change as the flesh of his right arm swelled as if the muscles underneath were being inflated like a wineskin, his skin turned a sickly yellow color before it split open like an overripe piece of fruit. There was a hideous tearing sound as his skin split in several places with patches of it coming off as yellowly leather while what remained began turning a putrid green. The visible muscle rotted away into yellow puss and blackened maggot filled meat, some of it fell away while some clung to partially blackened bones.

Zark's transformation was faring far worse, as maggots began to erupt from under his eye patch and the flesh around his missing eye began to necrotize. Before too long the once hardened mercenary was clawing at his own face in vain desperation. In doing so he pulled a chunk of his own face clean from the bone revealing a bare skull with cracks that had worm-like tendrils spilling from them. Zark screamed louder as his right shoulder exploded in a mass of black tendrils ripping rotted and living flesh from his body. Seconds later his left shoulder followed by the same changes. Soon the corruption spread to his chest and the armor on his torso rapidly aged and fell apart before his ribs cracked and broke through the surface of rotten flesh and mangled armor.

Darth's had reached the second level of his transformation and his legs had split into four sections as the rotted flesh and splintered bone began to reshape into bladed spider-like legs that reattached themselves to his waist and the spine begin to grow as more bone was added from out of nowhere. The new bone growth continued until there was a long blade like tail that was slowiy being covered in the skin and putrid muscles that had fallen to the floor earlier. Next, the rotted and aged pieces of armor, his boots and the rags from his pants began to wrap themselves around his new legs in twisted patterns. Soon the corruption reached its third level and his chest ballooned as skin and armor began to age and warp violently. Soon a gaping maw broke open revealing row after row of serrated yellow spike-like teeth. A thick and slime oozing purple tongue lashed out over the teeth and the maw made a gurgling sound of hunger for the flesh of the living.

Zark a few moments after his companion had reached the third level of his painful transformation reached the second level of his own. His legs seemed to liquify into a puddle of inky black thick and viscous goo. From the goo several boney arms half the size of his own reached out searching for the living to consume them in the darkness of unlife. At his waist, the goo transitioned back to the rotted flesh and visible bone of his spine and from this meeting point six long tentacles grew out from each end in what looked to be a beholder eye stock. Each was a sickly yellow color with a red pupil and no visible eyelid. The next transformation was in his arms as they as they split in half before morphing into insectoid form with three digits and covered in segmented black chitin. As Zark screamed his final human scream the last level of his undead enslavement began and his blue eye bulged from his skull before a line appeared across the center of it. From the line, the eye opened up into a fanged mouth and slithered out of his skull with the nerve still attached and hissed like a snake. After the hiss, the fanged eye vomited a torrent of hot venomous green blood onto the floor.

Darth's final stage of his unlife transformation caused his head to split cleanly down the middle of his neck. Once there his tongue soon changed into a horrid sickly oozing four foot long silvery forked tongue and exploded from the blood gushing neck hole. The two sides of his head were still just barely attached to his neck as the long stringy muscles at the base of the two head halves grew thicker keeping it connected to his grossly bloated neck. The two head halves began to take the characteristics of the mouth but the strange part was the six fanged eyes on the rotted grey matter that was once the poor man's brain. His left arm which had remained still human and living underwent a terrifying transformation and an oversized dark blue crab claw complete with barnacles, coral growths, strands of seaweed, and the reek of dead fish at low tide burst forth to replace it.

The most horrifying thing about the whole scene was that in the chest of the new undead Zark a glowing orb appeared that bore an eerie likeness to the form he bore before his punishment. It was his soul, it had been retained to suffer inside the undead monstrosity that his body had become. In the new body Darth's soul now called home he could be seen at the back of the throat in the gaping maw that was his chest. Both souls screamed for eternal rest but neither would see hope until their undead vessel had been destroyed and the curse broken.

"It is done and let this be a lesson to you all. Those that defy the order in life will serve it without question in unlife, like my two new pets here." Darkmali told the gathered spectators before looking forlorn at Lentorm. The boy just swallowed back more bile and fear as he stood frozen in place. He was now reconsidering Calinforth's offer to become his servant or apprentice, although those words seemed interchangeable when it came to Calinforth.

Calinforth just smiled as he watched the two hulking undead chimera twitch and shuffle back and forth as they looked for prey. He was pleased with the look of fear on the faces of the men that worked for his subordinates and more importantly he was pleased with the look of disdain fear and anger on Darkmali's face. " _This will teach you to try and undermine me and then try and worm your way out of me chastising you in a public manner. Now the stage is set for the greatest play in all the world's history, Now all we need is a lead actor for act one to begin…"_

 **I hope you all enjoyed the prologue, I'll try to update as often as I can. Before I go I'd like to credit my co-writer for this story, Heashfox. We've already begun work on the next few chapters, It's all a matter of having enough time to write them now.**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **TheStoryWizard**


	2. Chapter 1: You Will Go First

**Baldur's Gate**

 **Chapter 1: You Will Go First**

 **Drakarth, Western Heartlands**

 **1 Mirtul 1368 DR**

It was a warm summer day, the men were working the fields and groves gathering the bounty of the lands while the women were tending to their children, keeping the house, cooking a hearty meal for the evening or just gossiping as women tend to do. The children were all about playing or running around the forested area of the village they called home. Life here seemed happy and carefree like many of the towns in the area, far removed from the political and economic crisis crippling the southern Sword Coast region at the moment.

It seemed that all of the ore coming out of the local mine near Nashkel was rotting away soon after it had been smelted, turning whatever it was made into, be it weapons or armor or tools, useless. The iron shortage in the region had resulted in items made of iron becoming more valuable than gold. The price of good iron had become ten times more than its been in decades. This had lead to a few unscrupulous groups becoming bandits that were plaguing the roads in an attempt to steal any items of good iron from those who had paid far more than usual for it in the first place. With bandit attacks rising and people growing angry and fearful of the crisis the city of Baldur's Gate had sent out the Flaming Fist mercenaries in a near-futile attempt to police the roads but otherwise had closed its gates and harbors to all traffic until further notice. Accusations were hurled at the state of Amn despite their pleas of innocence but rumors about some secret plot involving Amn were far and wide.

The village square was abuzz with activity, many of the women were going about their daily routines while keeping an eye on all of the smaller children. All of the older children were doing their chores or off indulging in personal pursuits. Gathering near the edge of the square were the four mischief makers of the town, the four boys who would kings: Timith, Loris, Mathis, and Lark. These four boys were the sons of the village's Blacksmith, Baker, Mayor, and Cobbler which would make one think they were young men of respect and responsibility, but nothing could be further from the truth. They were the chief instigators in several of the pranks and incidents that plagued the village with inconveniences in the last few weeks. Today the band of troublemakers had taken their fathers bows without permission and had planned to steal away to the woods to go on a deer hunt. Somehow they had gotten the bright idea that venturing into the woods without supervision and bringing back the largest deer they could find would grant them an increase in respect and freedom.

Timith, the leader of the Mischievous Four as they were known by many of the mothers in the village, had come up with the plan after they had been severely punished for switching the village Priest's holy water with pond water during a christening. After a good hard paddling and being sent to bed without supper Timith figured that they needed to prove they were capable young men and not just brats that needed more discipline and hour long lessons with the priest on manners. The boys were discussing their plan of action today when their gangs' constant tag along came running up waving in desperation.

"Hey, Timith wait for me I want to come hunting too," a blonde haired boy called to a group of young men. While the other four had already had their bows at the ready, this boy was out of breath and looked as if he could barely keep up with his peers if he tried.

"Hurry up, Conarth you're always so slow. You'll never be a man of any worth in the future if you keep whining like that." Timith called back. Timith was the eldest of the young men in the village being 13 springs old, he was a tall lanky boy in that awkward state between being a man and still far too childish for major responsibility. He had dark brown hair and boyish features that were slowly hardening into that of a man much like his father.

"Sorry, I was busy dealing with my sister. She made me feed the pigs even though it was her turn to do it. I don't mean to whine I'm just so much smaller than the rest of you and you tend to forget about me a lot of the time." Conarth was the youngest of the boys at 10 summers old, he was small and thin almost girlish in a way, he had soft baby-faced features with short dirty blonde hair. Conarth was the youngest child and the only son of the village Doctor and Midwife which meant having him tag along was both good and bad as if any of them got hurt he would know what to do but it's also meant they to listen to they boy whine like a girl half the time too.

"Hey Timith come on it's already past midday and we want to get this deer before our father's come back from the fields. Drag Conarth along if you have to but let's go!" Lark yelled as he impatiently paced back and forth. Lark was an average boy of 11 autumns, His features were flat and plain, with a small nose, large hazel eyes, and a messy mop of sandy brown hair. Lark wasn't the tallest of the boys nor the shortest just somewhere in the middle, in fact, his overall appearance and presence were average to the point that many people often forgot he was even around unless one of the other boys in his little band was there.

"Alright, we will go; just give a moment to get the boy ready. This will be our first hunt you know." Timith called to the others before facing Conarth. "Be ready, Conarth for this is a test of manhood. We'll be going into the woods to kill our first deer so danger will be all around us, be on guard and try not to cry when we kill the deer." He gave the young lad a crooked grin before turning to lead his band of five young men into the woods. Today they would kill their first deer and prove to their parents, their fathers mostly, they were ready for more responsibilities other than their chores.

The troop of five boys crept deep into the woods well past the border of the villages where they were allowed to play hide and seek, build forts in the winter months and chase the girls they liked to play kissing games with during the summer festivities. The deeper they traveled the thicker the woods grew until it seemed they were in a towering wall of brown and green. The whole time the boys moved along no one dared make a sound until they came to a clearing where a herd of deer grazed peacefully. The unskilled band of overconfident hunters quickly and quietly made their way over to some fallen logs and hid behind them as they made their plan of attack. All of the boys save for Conarth were getting ready to pick the deer they would kill. Since the four boys with bows had only recently learned archery they decided to shoot at the same target to improve their chances to bag a deer. This was their best chance as they did not have a lot of confidence in their skills and they knew all too well that they lacked practical experience as proper hunters like their fathers.

"Oh, there is a whole herd of them right over there, they look so peaceful. Do we really have to kill one of them?" Conarth asked in a hushed tone with a look of regret in his green eyes. He was now having second thoughts about going on this hunt. Conarth was a rather sensitive child, not suited for some of the rough play that the children his age engaged in. This would one day make him a great doctor but for now a poor playmate in childish roughhousing.

"For the last time yes we do, this is a hunt, killing an animal is what you do on a hunt. By the Gods, if you start crying and ruin this for us I will beat you bloody." Lark hissed as he knocked an arrow and took aim at one of the yearlings on the edge of the herd.

"No you fool, aim for the large buck at the back of the herd. That yearling is too small and will be needed for the mating season next year. Didn't you listen to our father's when they explained the rules of hunting to us last winter? We'll take out one of the older males. All you aim for him and only him, the one at the very back. One of us is bound to get a killing blow." Timith pointed out before he took aim at their intended prey. "Conarth stay quiet and look away if you have to but don't you dare make a sound until I tell you to."

There was a long silence as the four young hunters all took aim. Each boy was still as a statue, left hand holding the bow their right held rigged as they pulled the bowstring taut. Four arrows leveled at the side of the grazing buck who had turn slightly to the side giving his would be assassins the best and broadest target. There was a moment of silence that seemed to expand into infinity, it was as if time had slowed down to a crawl and every part of the forest had stopped moving, waiting to see what would happen when the four young hunters released their arrows.

In a single instant, the four hunters fired their arrows in a flash as the buck looked up to see them. The herd all took off in a rush of clattering hooves and broken twigs when they heard the four twangs of the bowstrings. The next moments were chaos as the four young hunters leaped over the fallen logs running after their prey, Timith was shouting commands to the other boys as the three others shot several more arrows at the fleeing herd. Timith saw a chance to hit the buck they were after so he paused in his run and fired one more arrow which hit the buck in its front left shoulder. The arrow hit its mark with such force that the fleeing deer missed a step and tumbled head first into the ground, it's antlers snapping off in thick pieces as they were cast off in several unknown directions, it flipped end over end down a steep sloping embankment where it smashed into a tree with a sickening thud. The force of the fall snapped its two front legs, like dry kindling in a freshly made fire with a loud bone crushing pop, as the deer bellowed out in pain. All of the boys came to a stop at the top of the embankment as they heard the loud crash of flesh and bone violently smashing into the thick trunk of an oak tree. They all crept to the edge of the embankment where they stared down at the buck as he flailed around trying to stand but could not with its front shattered and twisted around facing the wrong way.

For several minutes all the band of young hunters could do was stand there on the embankment edge and stare in horror and disgust at the damage that their leader's arrow and their overzealous actions had caused. Conarth looked on and his eyes filled with tears as he held back of sobs anguish at the suffering of the deer. "What… what do we do now?" Mathis asked, his face twisted with disgust at the sight of the broken buck, he was an average looking boy of 11 summers with curly black and hair with very squarish features and large dark brown eyes. Fear filled the boy's face as he looked around the other trying to figure out what to do.

"I… I… I don't know… we should… Hey Loris what do think we should…" Lark asked, completely at a loss for words or action, but he never finished his sentence as noticed that the bright red haired freckled boy of 11 winters with a lanky build and a slightly crooked face was bent over losing his midday meal next to a set of small scrub bushes. There was regret in his hazel eyes and vomit on his lips. "Timith I think we made a mistake in doing this."

"You sure did boy, any man worth his salt would have finished this by now. Better yet they would have gotten a better angle and taken the buck with a clean shot to the heart." Came the voice of a tall man from behind a few of the smaller trees that overlooked the embankment. The man was in plain leather armor save for the guard seal of the Drakarth Tower. The tower and its guards not only served to protect the village but were also one of the many towers in the signal network for the kingdom. The signal network served to warn the surrounding areas of any danger on a grand scale like approaching warbands, raiders, or invading armies. The man himself was about 20 summers old, with tannish skin tone, he was only 6'1 in height but he seemed to tower over all of the boys especially Conarth, he was slightly muscular but nothing that would make him seem overly threatening unless he tried to be. His brown hair with it's lighter reddish brown highlights was a bit shaggy but somewhat well kept, it was cut short in the front and pulled tight into a ponytail in the back and tied with a bit of black cord. His facial features were very average and somewhat plain, in a crowd of people he would easily be overlooked but the scariest part of him were his eyes. His eyes were a bright reddish brown color, almost the color of drying blood. There was also an eerie and deadly shine to them as if they were seeking a reason or understanding for the need to bleed something to death. There was a hidden bloodlust in those strangely red eyes and it scared the life out of the boys. To the boys, he was a threat, an unknown that had become a new shadow in a world that was unfamiliar to them. As the trembling youths looked at the man they knew one thing very well, he was out here for something and that something wasn't good in the slightest.

"Wait a moment, I know you boys, I know all of you," The man said as he walked over to the trembling band of youths. "Your name is Conarth, the only son of the village Doctor." The man said as he pointed at Conarth who quickly hid behind the other four boys. The man just smiled before pointing at the next in the line of frightened children. "You're the Cobbler's son, Lark, next is the Mayor's oldest boy Mathis, the one losing his meal in the bushes is the Baker's son Loris and you;re Timith the son of the village Blacksmith, Caldur the Ironborn." The man finished as he smiled darkly at Timith who at the time was holding on to Conarth to keep him from running off into the woods. Losing Conarth now would be more trouble than what they were already in so Timith just held on to the boy tightly as he tried to put on a brave face and to not seem as frightened as he was, in truth he wanted to run away screaming as much as Conarth did.

The strange man could see the fear in the boys' eyes but only Timith seemed to be trying to hide the fact he was just as scared as the others. All five of the boys were ready to bolt into the woods without looking back to see if the others were running away too. The man just kept on smiling at the boys darkly while he walked past them to get a good look at the deer. The animal was in a sorry state and for some reason, the man only seemed to smile wider at that fact. The boys saw this and it made the growing fear in the pit of their stomachs worse.

"You four are really shite at being hunters. That deer is almost unusable in the state it's in plus you're making the poor thing suffer by leaving it down struggling like that. Which one of you four shot it?" The man asked with his back to the boys as he watched the deer struggle to stand and bellow in pain. After a minute or so of waiting for an answer and getting nothing but silence and the occasional whimper the man turned to look at the boys with anger on his face. "Alright, you brats when I ask a damn question one of you five better answer it and quickly. I am Gavid, one of the guards for Drakarth Tower, an adult, you know the law around here, and I'm also the only man standing between you and the beating of your lives from your fathers for this stunt. **So which one of you little pissants shot the damn deer?!** " Gavid yelled as he pointed at the boys.

All five boys jumped at the loud boom of the tower guards voice, Lark, Loris, and Mathis without any hesitation pointed at Timith who was trying to calm a screaming and crying Conarth down. Gavid could see that the doctor's son was far too scared and sensitive for what had to happen next so he would have to send the boy back to the village after calming him down a bit. Gavid walked passed the three tattle-tales, as they didn't have enough sense to try and protect their little band, they were just interested in saving their own hides, over to Timth who looked up at Gavid defiantly as he pushed Conarth behind himself.

"You must be their leader as you have the good sense to protect the weakest of your group. Worry not I'm not going to hurt the boy I just want to send him back to the village; this next part he shouldn't see." Gavid told Timith before reaching for Conarth and pulling him over to speak with the crying boy. "Dry your eyes Conarth this is no time to be crying. I know you didn't want to hurt the deer but the others wanted to hunt it. You are too young for this. In another three or four years you will be ready and your father or one of the other men in the village will show you how to hunt properly." Gavid told the boy in a calm and reassuring tone. "For now run on back to the village where it's safe. I will send your friends after we take care of the deer. Take the trail over by the trees where I was standing, it will take you back to the side of the village by the tower. Don't worry about getting in trouble this will be our little secret, okay?"

It took a few minutes but Conarth stopped crying and nodded his head before reluctantly running over the trail that lead back to the village. After looking over his shoulder and getting a reassuring nod from both Gavid and Timith, Conarth headed back to the village as fast as his legs would carry him. Once the ten-year-old was well out of earshot Gavid turned back to the three cowering boys. "Alright you three pissants gather around your _fearless_ leader here; you're about to get a lesson in manhood," Gavid said with a dark tone to his voice and an eerie smile before he tossed a waterskin and a bit of cloth to Loris. "Loris clean yourself up boy you look like a young wife who just found out she's taken with her first child."

"Mister Gavid… w-w-what do you intend to do with us?" Lark asked as he stood next to Timith.

"I plan on showing what you're supposed to do to a deer you just shot. Not that you pissants will really learn anything from it. After all, you were stupid enough to let it fall down the embankment and break its legs like that." Gavid told Lark as he eyed the boy hard. "You three will watch anyway the real lesson is for you Timith, you shot the damn thing so you should be the one to finish it. That's what a man does, he finishes what he starts. Come here boy and take my knife; you'll need it for the next part."

Timith took a deep breath and released it before he steeled his resolve and walked over to Gavid taking the knife in hand. The young man looked up at the older man with a look of confidence that hid his true feelings of fear. "I'm ready, what do I have to do, sir?"

"Follow me down the embankment so we can finish this. You three pay close attention to this, next time you will have to do it; if there is a next time." Gavid said with a dark chuckle before leading Timith down the slope to where the deer was still flailing but only slightly.

"Now all you have to do is just grab it by the antlers or what's left of them, pull its head back, and slice its throat. One quick, clean, and deep cut will put it out of its misery. Go on boy do it quick as we are losing the light. You really don't want to be out when night falls, trust me on that." Gavid said as he pushed the hesitating boy toward the slightly mulling deer.

Timith walked the few paces to the deer slightly tripping several times as he did before he knelt down next to the deer and gripped the broken bleeding stub of antlers. He pulled the deer's head back and he placed the knife next to his throat readying him to end the deer's life when the deer looked at him. As Timith looked into the alien black pool that was the deer eye he could see it's innocence, it's pain and his own weakness. It was in that moment Timith couldn't do it, he couldn't kill the deer and dropped the knife.

"I can't do it, I can't kill it." Timith cried as he backed up away from the deer falling down into a sitting position with a look of terror and regret on his face. Gavid just sighed as he knew this would happen. He walked over to the scared boy and picked up the knife. "You three up there see that? This is why little _shites_ like you should stop trying to be men when you're still boys. Get your fathers' bows and get your asses back to the village. If I ever catch you four out here again do something this stupid I will tan your backsides before I take you back to your fathers for more of the same. Now go on and get back home where you belong." Gavid told the boys as he eyed the slowly breathing deer.

"What about the deer?" Timith asked as he was scurrying back up the slope to the others.

"Don't you worry about the deer. A _real_ man will do what's right for it. You just get back to the village and don't you even think about telling your father's about this otherwise you will be getting more than your backsides bruised for it. Now git, pissants!"

The boys said nothing to the ominous threat as they grabbed their fathers' bows and quivers before heading off the same way that Conarth had used earlier. Once the boys were gone and Gavid could no longer hear them rushing through the forest at breakneck speed he turned back to the deer. He knelt next to the dying buck's head and lifted it slightly to expose its throat. He gave the dying creature a sad look as he placed the knife blade against its throat. "I'm sorry for what they did to you. I wish that you had been hunted by someone worthy of taken your life to feed their own. This is all I can do for you, rest well noble buck." Gavid said softly to the wheezing deer before he drew the blade across the bucks throat with a quick pull of his hand. The slice was quick and deep as the deer didn't even feel the slice that ended it's suffering. It passed on a few seconds after its warm blood hit the cold dry earth beneath it.

 **(At the Tower)**

Once the deed was done Gavid loaded the deer on the cart he had with him a few feet away from when he had spotted the boys earlier that day. In the cart were a few other animals he had _hunted_. The buck was added to the five other smaller animals and Gavid pulled it back to the Tower. He reached the Tower an hour before sunset where his comrades in arms were waiting to greet him with a mug of ale and a warm meal.

"Ah _there's_ Gavid," the reddish-haired halfling, Denmir, shouted from the entrance to the dining hall. "Bout' damn time you showed up." the guard called before he signaled to the others who were sitting around a table.

"You missed the patrol, boy," one of his superiors growled, a tall older human man dressed in the same garb as the other guards save for his golden rank insignia and more detailed armor. "Off hunting on your own again? Solitude isn't good for you, lad."

"What the chief said!" A half-orc, Grekor, agreed with a rather goofy smirk on his face. "You should have gone patrolling with us, then you would have gotten here before Horace drank half the ale."

"Ib dunno watcher talkin' boot," muttered a half-elf, Horace, who was sitting cross-legged on one of the other tables drinking another full tankard of hard ale. "Issal there. Sides, we can always get more from the *hic* tavern, right?"

Gavid didn't say much as he sat down to grab his tray, Horace was known for doing his fair share of drinking, but the surly half-elf could barely hold all that liquor. If Horace was drunk already and the others were berating him about missing patrol earlier, Horace like always must have challenged the Chief to another round of drinking. If that was the case than Gavid had missed out on the bet this week, it must have been a big one since Horace seemed a lot drunker than usual and Grekor was watching him intensely with a almost calculated patience. ' _Well if Horace is in a drinking contest it's about time we saw how well he was doing_ ', Gavid thought as he turned to the half-elf with a mischievous smile on his face. "Surprised you're still standing, Horace you usually pass out well before…" No sooner had he begun that sentence than he watched his words ring true, Horace collapsed into the table before bouncing off to the side a bit and slumping over on his side where he laid dazed and snoring. Normally he would have broken the table clean in half with a fall like that if it had not been reinforced specifically for this situation.

"Pay up, chief," Grekor smirked victoriously as he held out his thick hand. "That's twenty minutes and ten full tankards of ale that Horace managed in trying to keep up with you."

"Give him another month and he'll drink you under the table, chief." Denmir added as he walked over and was passed an ale by Grekor. "That's my next bet. I'll put fifty coppers on it."

"Coppers?" The chief asked, raising an eyebrow. "That's peasant change my dear boy, let us make this a real man's bet. I'll bet twenty silver says Horace won't last five minutes against me next week and I will even get us some real Dwarven spirits to make it interesting."

"Fifty silver!" Grekor shouted, "Says you're wrong, chief. Horace is catching up with you and even if you get the real hard stuff like Dwarven spirits he will still manage to last just as long as you!"

"Alright I'll take that bet, so I'm in for fifty gold," Gavid stated simply.

This caused the entire room to go silent and everyone turned to him with a look of disbelief at what they had just heard. "You have to be saying that in jest, right? Tell me your playing with us?" Grekor asked as he nearly choked on his ale at Gavid's statement.

Gavid just raised an eyebrow before he placed a coin pouch filled with gold coins on the table in swift fashion. "Am I, Grekor?"

"Well, this has gotten interesting" the chief grinned, "That my dear lads is how a real man bets!"

"Fifty Gold?" Denmir asked with disbelief. "Are you mad, Gavid? Did you hit your head in the woods or something? Fifty gold? By Mask's mask, this man is insane!"

"So Gavid my good man who is this wager of yours being placed on? Is it me or our loveable half drunk, Horace?" The chief asked truly excited for their next weekly drinking session.

"Fifty gold," Gavid repeated, placing it in the middle of the table. "Says I can drink the lot of you under the table. Anytime. Anywhere!"

Everyone but the chief and a sleeping Horace stopped in their tracks and looked at him dumbfounded. The chief, on the other hand, was more excited at the challenge thrust at him and his men.

"By Elminster's beard boy you have fired up my blood! I will see you passed out and bowed before me, sick and crawling like a newborn pup before the end of this. Next week will see who is the last man standing." The chief proclaimed as he held up his tankard. "A toast boys, to Gavid, may he never regret losing a year's pay to me or the hangover he will have the day after."

All of the men clank their tankards together while having a good laugh before the night wore on as it usually did in the tower, next to the quiet little village, with a lot of drinking and merriment.

 **(On the Hills just outside of the Village...)**

The air was cold and silent as night fell, and most of the village citizens had retired for the night. Every candle had been extinguished, all the children were warm in their beds and the stars began to dot the landscape one by one as darkness engulfed both village and forest. All seemed calm until a surge of magical energy made its presence known, and from this surge of energy erupted a portal as if it were penetrating the fabric of reality.

A sizable group of individuals had arrived on the path just outside the city, although most seemed to be hired thugs in medium to heavy armor, the three individuals at the forefront of this intrusion were certainly out of the ordinary.

The first of the three individuals and the one who had opened the rift was Koraxus Semorn, a human mage of 80 winters, Semorn had seen and done many unspeakable things in the service of unspeakable men and the man he had chosen to serve now was no different. Mulled by harsh reality and tempered by the weight of his age, the once proud and tall Semorn had grown shorter as a result of back issues. His once vibrant black hair had become a smoky grey and the sullen features of his face looked as if they had been melted on. His nose was small and crooked, his lips were thin and pale almost as if there wasn't any blood in them at all. He appeared tired and worn and yet what light remained in his tortured grey eyes burned with resolve as he guided his charge through the woods and towards the village before them.

"I was not able to divine the exact location; but the one you seek is less than a mile from where we are currently standing," Semorn informed the party's leader.

"Excellent," a low and gravelly voice spoke seething with darkness and bloodlust. The owner of this voice was a massive and intimidating figure. At seven feet tall, Sarevok Anchev was large enough on his own but the dark, heavily spiked battle worn plate mail he wore made him seem much larger. Not many of his features showed through the heavy armor but by his stride, it was apparent that his strength was such that he could crush anyone of lesser strength as if they were twigs. He carried an armor with a heft that would in a real battle tear through most men as if they were in simple leather armor. At his side was a massive greatsword that seemed to hum with blood red energy, it's design was unlike any other sword of its type. From its oversized appearance, it would have a weight far beyond what a normal man could lift let alone swing in any dangerous way. Its hilt was etched with the visage of the Abyssal Lord, in the cross piece sat a single large bloodstone that shined and moved like an eye searching for a victim. The scabbard was decorated in with the bones of a slain Pit Fiend and jewels from the dark creature's treasure horde, this sword was a reflection of the dark ambitions that Sarevok hoped to bring to light. From what little was visible of his face one could see the piercing yellow eyes of a cold-blooded killer that sought to bring blood, terror, and pain to the world he would break and rule with an iron fist as it's God. Though everything about the way this man carried himself suggested he had seen several years of hardened battle, Sarevok had only just crossed the threshold of his prime. "Our target cannot hide forever, it is only a matter of killing everyone here until we find him."

"What exactly are you planning to accomplish here, boy?" Semorn inquired firmly. "If we simply run an assault on the entire village _your_ target is likely to escape in the chaos. Or have you let this new authority of yours go to your head?"

"You would do well to know your place," spoke the third individual, a woman of Kozakuran descent, her sharp but sweet voice told everyone she was not pleased. Tamoko was a woman of 23 summers with an average height of 5'4, her skin was a pale brown, her hazel eyes gleamed with intelligence and determination as well as some evil intent, she had a soft feminine chin that was a bit rounded at the end. She had full lips and soft full cheeks, her light black hair was shoulder length and braided, her bangs were curled slightly and framed her face well. Though clad in chain mail and wielding a very intimidating mace in left hand and small steel shield in her right, it was hard not to notice her beauty or the allure that many of the women from her homeland had. Tamoko carried herself with pride and the diligence of a trained soldier, she would dare anyone to question a woman's place in both temple or on the battlefield and it was clear from her stance that she had seen several battles in the past. She was not one to be trifled with. Altogether her features and posture all showed both a firm determination as well as a devotion towards the man she had chosen to serve: Sarevok. Perhaps that was why Sarevok had taken such a deep interest in her, an interest that has evolved into something far from professional and had led to her following this man into such a dark situation. All of those that had chosen to follow Sarevok had seen this general infatuation turn to something else but none dared to say a word of it to their master. It was well known that Tamoko and Tamoko alone could question Sarevok without harsh consequences. "I trust Sarevok's judgment and if you value your life you shall do the same."

"I do not need you to speak for me, woman," Sarevok stated forcefully before turning his eyes to Semorn. "Our target will not escape my notice. Question my orders again and I will take great pleasure in ending your life in the most brutal and grotesque way possible."

"It shall be as you command then," Semorn agreed reluctantly. "I shall remain here until you have accomplished your goal. Once you have done that, I can transport us back to your stronghold."

"We're all in agreement then," Sarevok shouted out towards the crowd of soldiers. "Men, we have come here for only one purpose: to find and kill our target."

"Who is our target?" one of the soldiers asked. "Shouldn't we know something like that before we march in?"

"I'm glad you asked," Sarevok answered with a sadistic grin. "No, that is none of your business. All you need to know is that none of the villagers are to survive. Take everything and leave naught but death and destruction in your wake. Once you began your siege of the village the target will show themselves and from there I will have my dark prize..."

"But shouldn't we…" the man did not finish his sentence as Tamoko was in front of him in what seemed like a flash; she hit him in the chest with her mace full force, sending the man flying into the air a good ten feet. Before the man's limp and twisted body could hit the ground like a busted open ragdoll he was hit with several bolts of lightning from Sermorn's raised palm. A rain of guts, blood, and charred bones along with a bit of smoldering ash fell at the feet of the soldiers with a soft thud.

"Does anyone have questions about your orders?" Tamoko asked as she pointed her mace at the stunned soldiers. "Just remember that if any of those questions are along the same lines as the stupid asshole we just sent to hell I will personally finish you in a similar if not more brutal fashion. Do not test me, you have your orders so do as your master has commanded!"

After this display of violence, the rest of the soldiers shouted their agreements and awaited further instruction, not wishing to see or feel the wrath of the three individuals that had brought them to this remote part of Faerun.

"Good," Sarevok shouted once more. "Now that we are all on the same page, let us begin. Tamoko and I will lead the advance squad in an assault on the tower. The rest of you will be set loose in the village first to cause a distraction of sorts, hahaha." Sarevok said as six soldiers separated from the large group to stand next to Tamoko, all of them were highly skilled but still no match for Tamoko and her battle experience. After the two groups were set Sarevok turned his attention back to the large group. "Pillage to your heart's content, take what ever treasure you can find, be sure to take all of the iron as well. Take their daughters as trophies or for your pleasure, kill any that get in your way and leave no trace of who we are or what we are here for. Now go and lay waste to this pathetic settlement and bring to me the riches of death and mayhem, hahaha!"

 **(In the Village)**

Conarth lay in his bed staring at the ceiling wondering why he had cried so hard after finding out the others hadn't killed the deer. He was so happy they had decided they couldn't do it. Timith had explained everything about what happened in the woods but wouldn't talk about why he had decided to not kill the deer. In fact, Timith had been very vague about his reasons and he had told the other boys he wasn't going to be causing any more of ruckus for a while. After a few words with Mathis, Loris, and Lark about not getting caught with the bows or arrows, Timith sent all of the boys home to put away their father's bows and to never speak of what happened ever again. The rest of the day had gone on as normal with Conarth hiding out in his room reading until supper. After being mostly quiet and dodging several questions from his older sister Conarth hurried to bed as the night sky turned a dark blue but sleep had not come easy. Now he was trying to figure what he should do about the events earlier that day.

Conarth gave a sigh as he got up to go to the privy to empty his bladder, he really shouldn't have drunk so much at dinner but it had been the only way to dodge his sister's questions about his day. The young boy made way from his room down the hall to the front of the house. After lighting a candle he made his way out of the house to the privy at the back of the house.

Conarth hated going out to the privy at night especially at night since everything in the village looked scary to him. Once inside the outhouse the young boy quickly relieved himself and was in a hurry to get back to the house when he heard several gruff voices. Conarth quickly recoiled from the privy door as he heard several heavy footsteps pass by and the sound of a lock being pried open.

"Hurry up with that oil we don't want any of them to escape once the fun starts," a man said with a rough slur to his words.

"I know that just make sure ya don't kill any of pretty ones until we had some fun with them first. Villages like this always have some pretty girls in them." Another man said that seemed to be dragging something heavy.

Conarth quietly moved to the door and looked through the small hole in it to see several large and rough looking men wandering around by his house. All of them had on light armor and were carrying daggers and swords. Several of them were moving large barrels of oil from the storehouse at the far end of the village. If what he had heard was true then the whole village would be destroyed and everyone killed. He had to get out of the privy and warn someone, anyone, everyone of what was coming.

"Hey Jorniel where the hell are ya going fool?" A large man called as a tall lanky man was making his way over to the privy.

"Gonin' ta take a piss, ya want ta hold it for me?"The tall man asked before opening the door to the privy to lay eyes on a scared blonde boy of about ten years huddled in a ball next to the open door. "What the hell? Who da hell are you, boy?" The tall man asked as he back up a bit.

Conarth didn't waste a moment on being scared or crying he just ran right past the man knocking him off balance as he pushed past him.

"Get that little blonde wretch before he wakes any of the villagers. Go now before the Boss finds out!" A fat man with a chubby red face yelled at two other thugs opening the oil barrels.

Conarth ran down the dirt road from his house toward the center of the village he needed to warn the rest of the village but he didn't want the men chasing him to find him before he could do that. His only option was to go to the mayor first then get Mathis's help in waking the others in the village. The young boy ran all the way to the Mayor's house and banged on the door while calling for help.

After a minute or so Conarth heard the heavy latch on the door slide back before the door was ripped open by the angry and flustered Mayor. The man was 40 winters old with hard lines creasing his forehead, his hair was a light brown peppered with flecks of grey and white. He was a stocky well-fed man almost fat in a jovial way with a round and full face. His dark brown eyes were a little unfocused as he eyed Conarth a bit angrily. He was dressed in his nightshirt and cap as he held a single candle he had used to light the way to the door.

"Conarth what is wrong with you boy? Do you know the hour? You should be asleep like all young boys at this time of night. What is it boy, speak up and be quick with it!" The mayor asked as he eyed the bewildered and breathless boy.

"They are... By my house, there are so many of them. They're going to kill everyone… I heard them talking about it…. I ran here to tell you." Conarth wheezed and sputtered as he tried to warn the mayor of the coming danger.

"Conarth you aren't making any sense. Take a breath young lad and calm yourself. Tell me what happened before you came here?" The Mayor asked as he placed a hand on Conarth's shoulder and gave the boy a reassuring shake to calm him.

Conarth took a few deep breaths to calm himself but the fact he was being chased by two of the bandits wasn't helping matters. After a minute or two Conarth was as calm as anyone being chased by bloodthirsty bandits could be. "I was out in the privy when I heard several men talking about destroying the village. They were even talking about taking all of the women and young girls. I was hiding when one of them named Jorniel went to use the privy and spotted me so I ran here as fast as I could to warn you so we can defend the village."

"That's a good lad, you did well coming here to tell me. Now, how many of them did you see before you ran here?" The mayor asked as he was trying to get a good sense of the situation.

"I saw at least six men near my house but they were talking like there was a whole lot more. Two of them were chasing meee-" Conarth froze mid-sentence when he heard the sound of heavy footfalls and the shouts of murder that would be his reward for running like a scared kitten.

"There you are, you little shit; I'm going to slit you from groin to gullet when I get me hands on you!" A fat scarred man shouted as he brandished a sharp skinning knife. "Oh by the Nine Hells, he woke the Mayor now we have to begin the fun early. Send the signal while I deal with this shite." The fat man said with an angry look towards his partner before charging at the Mayor and Conarth. The other man just nodded before turning around and running back down the roadway a few feet and standing next to the schoolhouse. For a moment he paused and bent down next to the door before taking something out of his belt.

What Conarth saw a few seconds after the fat man charged at him and the mayor sent him into a fit of screaming, the schoolhouse burst into flames lighting up the whole of the village square in a red and orange glow. Before Conarth could get to crying and falling all over himself the Mayor gripped the boy's shoulder hard before tossing him inside the house. "Run and wake my family boy and get them out of here. Wake the village, make as much noise as possible, go now!" The Mayor yelled as he took up the wood cutting ax next to the door and turned towards the charging man.

Conarth sat there on the floor in a heap as he watched the mayor in his nightshirt and cap with an ax in hand take on the fat bandit. The was clash as the two men hit one another in the door and each tried to overpower the other. For a moment it looked like the Mayor was going to win until he let a grunt of pain and fell over holding his chest. Blood stained his hand and shirt as he grunted and choked. The fat man stood over with a second blood covered knife as he grinned wickedly.

"Poor boy, look at what you made me do. I done gone and stabbed the Mayor. Oh whatever will the village do without him?" The fat man asked with a laugh as he licked some of the blood from his blade. "Oh look at that he's still alive but barely. Better fix that or should I take him to the Misses of the house and let her fix him up before I kill him for good? What do you think boy?" The fat man asked Conath who was just sitting there crying.

"Ru-run boy, di-didn't you hear me. I said run!" the Mayor wheezed as he grabbed the fat man by the leg and pulled hard causing him to lose balance then slip in the pool of the Mayor's blood. The fat man fell hard to the wooden floor losing one of his knives in the process. The knife slid across the floor and stopped in front of a still crying Conarth. The scared young boy saw the knife lying at his feet while the fat man was struggling with the mayor who at the time was bleeding out. Conarth picked up the knife and stabbed it into the fat man's left hand before he tore off deeper into the house screaming at the top of his lungs for help.

"Oh hell you little shit that hurts, I going to gut you and make your mother wear your entrails as garters you little bastard! **EVEN THE CROWS WON'T WANT TO EAT YOU WHEN I'M DONE WITH YOU, YOU LITTLE SHIT!** " The fat man screamed as he kicked the Mayor in the face. "Let go ya bastard, I got some killing to do and you're in the damn way!"

Conarth ran straight for Mathis' room, having been to the Mayor's house on many occasions to get Mathis for Timith, Conarth knew the layout of the house even in the dark. Well, it was nearly dark as the burning schoolhouse gave the house an eerie grimdark feel with long wavering shadows. Conath found Mathis room and banged on the door. Seconds later the door opened to reveal a frightened and half dressed Mathis with a confused look on his face.

"Conarth what's going o-" "No time to talk go wake your mother and sisters. We have to run; the village is under attack!" Conath yelled to the older boy before turning to check to see if the fat man was coming.

"What? Where is my father? What's going on, Conarth; you're not making any sense." Mathis said as he walked out of his room only to stop in his tracks at the sight of a fat bandit covered in blood holding his father's severed head.

"Found you, you little bastard! I'm going to kill you so slow. When I'm done with you the Gods will weep at what I've done." The fat man said with a sneer and he dropped the mayor's head in front of the boys. "You're all out of prayers and miracles now boy get ready to see what hell looks l-" The fat man was cut off by Mathis tackling him to the ground and punching him in the face while crying for the fat man to give his father back.

Conarth didn't wait around to see how Mathis would fare in his fight with the fat man as fear pushed him in to escaping and finding someone else to help. The scared blonde boy headed to Mathis room and went straight to a window to escape the house. Once he located a window Conarth tried to pry it open with trembling hands. He had just undone the lock when he heard a large crash and Mathis screaming in pain. Seconds later the door swung open with a loud crash as it hit the wall. The fat man was standing in the doorway holding Mathis by the throat. The young boy was struggling to breathe as the fat man eyed Conatrh with dark intent in his brown bloodshot eyes.

"Enough of your shit you little cunt. I'm done with all your running you're going to sit there and watch me kill and gut this runt then... **I'M GOING TO SHOVE HIS LIVER DOWN 'YER THROAT BOY, AND THEN YOU'RE NEXT!** " The fat man screamed as he plunged his knife into Mathis' belly and slit the boy open with a wide twisting slash spilling his guts onto the floor. Mathis screamed in agony as his belly was opened up and his innards gushed out onto the cold floor. The dying boy looked down at his entrails before looking up at Conarth with tears in his eyes. Just before the fat man stabbed him again Mathis pointed to the window and mouthed the words, " _Run to Timith_!'

Conarth watched as steam rose from the flesh of his friend that lay on the floor as the fat man started to carve up Mathis like he was a pig on the butcher's block. There were no words for the horror he was witnessing but Conarth was stuck in a living nightmare that there was no escape from. Conarth was about to give in and let death come for him when he saw Mathis mouth for him to run to Timith. With renewed resolve, Conarth pulled the heavy window open enough to slip out. While the fat man was distracted he climbed out the window falling to the ground with a thud before taking off toward Timith's house.

The fat man turned to see what his scared little blonde prey was doing only to find he had run again."Damn it to the Nine Hells I'm getting sick of your damn running boy. When I catch you I'm going to place your broken and slashed body on a stake for all to see!" The fat man yelled before he tossed Mathis' mutilated corpse into the hallway before kicking out the window to continue his chase of the young blonde boy. "I'm going to wear your teeth as a necklace, boy! I'm going to gouge your eyes out and feed them to the dogs, **I WILL END YOU**!"

As Conarth crossed the village square he could see that there were around 20 bandits all over the village attacking people, looting houses, burning down looted buildings, carting off young girls and their mothers with torn clothing and blood on their legs, and nightgowns and practically bathing themselves in ale stolen from the tavern. The village was a scene of chaos and disarray but Conarth did not have time to cry over all this, he had to get to Timth and soon. It didn't take long to get to Timith's house but when Conarth rounded the corner to come up to the back of the house he stopped suddenly. There were already three bandits kicking in the back door. Conarth could see that Timith's mother was huddling in the storeroom with his younger sisters Mariel and Aurelia. Conarth caught sight of them from the window as they ran by it before hiding behind ibe of the crates and barrels in the room. He couldn't see Timith in any of the windows but there was a light coming from the Smithy on the far side ofthe house. Conarth wasted no time in circling around to the far side of the house and entered into the Smithy to find Timith. He found the older boy at the forge after crawling through the coal shoot.

"Timith we … we got trouble the village is under attack by bandits!" Conarth wheezed and coughed as he brushed coal dust off his face.

"I know already I saw them coming I had my mother and sisters hide in the storeroom. I locked them in so they should be safe for the time being. I need to get this sword finished if I'm going to kill those bandits." Timith said as he pulled a wide flat piece of red-hot steel from the forge and dunked it in a barrel of oil.

"We don't have time for that. The village is being destroyed right now! Your father has already made plenty of weapons that we can use now. Come on before any more people die. They already killed Mathis and his father, please Timith we need you to lead us!" Conarth yelled as he pointed to the window and the chaos happening around them.

"I can't pick any of the swords or axes up, Conarth. Those things are too heavy for me but this sword I'm making I can lift and wield no problem. It doesn't have to be sharp just wide and heavy on one side to do some real damage." Timith yelled back as he pulled the wide and heavy steel blade from the oil. Conarth was about to yell at Timith for being stupid when there came a loud bang at the door of the Smithy. Conarth was frozen in terror again as it was the voice of the fat man yell more death threats at him.

"I know you're in there you little blonde shit. Don't tell me you found another friend to be a fucking meatshield for you didn't you, you little bastard? I'm going to eat your fingers one at a time, lad. I'm going to chop off and roast your nethers on a spit! I'm going to tear off your leg and beat you bloody with it!" The fat man yelled as he banged on the door nearly breaking it in half. "I'm going to shove me boot so far up your arse you'll taste leather before ya die! **I WILL USE YOUR FUCKING SKULL AS A CLUB YOU INSIPID PISSANT!** "

"We have to run and **NOW!** " Conarth yelled as he pulled on Timith's arm to get the older boy to move toward the coal shoot.

"Who is that and why is he so pissed at you?" Timith asked as he watched the reinforced door start to buckle under the heavy attacks of the fat man.

"He's the fat man that's been chasing me since this all started. He has already killed Mathis and the Mayor in front of me. Please, we have to run otherwise I'm afraid he will end up killing you too." Conarth said in a frightened tone as he tried to pull Timith to the coal shoot again. Before Timith started moving to leave the door finally gave way in a shower of wooden chucks and bent metal. The fat man stood in the doorway holding a large ax that he dropped before a look of pure hatred for Conarth crossed over his face.

" **I WILL FLAY YOUR ROTTING CORPSE AND MAKE BOOTS OUT OF YOUR ARSE CHEEKS! I WILL CHASE YOU TO THE NINE HELLS AND BACK IF I HAVE TO, BOY! YOU WILL DIE SLOWLY!** " The fat man yelled at Conarth as he pointed his knife at the boy. "Don't you fucking dare move you little blonde toad. I'm tired of chasing your arse all across this damned village. And you, the boy with the shit half sword; don't even think about be a damn her-" Once again the fat man was cut off by a young boy tackling him to allow his chosen target a chance to escape. Knowing the boy tackling him was going to fight hard just like the last one, the fat man just punched him in the head as hard as he could before kicking the boy into the anvil in front of the forge. The force of the blow combined with hitting the heavy metal structure knocked the boy out cold.

"That's it, you pissant, I don't have time to play with you so I'm going to end this one quickly." The fat man said as he grabbed Timith by the head and drug his limp body over to the hot forge and shoved Timith face first into the hot coals. The heat of the coals searing off the flesh of his cheek, the blinding white hot pain and the smell of burning flesh woke Timith. The young boy screamed like a banshee and struggled to get away from the indescribable pain on the left side of his face. He could not see out of his left eye but he knew that the flesh from his cheek to the top of his head was burned off and the coals were blackening the bones of his skull. The pain in the upper portion of his left side was growing intensity as there was still some skin and flesh left. It was slowing peeling away from his skull as the fluid in his left eye boiled before it burst with a hiss as it hit the coals below. Timith's struggling and screams were growing less pronounced as the fat man pumped the bellows with his foot. This made the coals burn even hotter than before causing Timith's whole head to catch fire. The fat man let go of the dead boy as his head burst into flames, letting the boy's burned limp corpse fall to the floor of the Smithy. Conarth could do nothing but watch as his friend was burned alive in front of him. Soon he would be next unless he ran again.

"Got any more friends you want me to kill or are you done running?" The fat asked Conarth as he kicked Timith's burnt body over to him, the force of the kick causing the burnt skull to come loose from the corpse to roll in front of Conarth.

Conarth picked up his friend's hot skull and threw it at the fat man before pushing past him to run away once again. As the blonde boy ran past him the fat man tried to stab the boy in the back. He missed but did manage to slice away some of the boy's hair. "I'll scalp you alive, boy! I'll bleed you dry and force you to drink it you pathetic puke stain! I'll slit 'yer throat and make your mommy watch you snot-nosed brat!" The fat man swore as he turned and chased after the boy yet again.

The fat man ran back to the middle of the village square where the rest of his band were going about looting and burning the village to the ground. He paused for a moment and slunk back in the shadow of a nearby building as his boss and the advance team made their way through the village square on the way to the tower at the opposite end of the village. Once the dark man and others in his party passed the fat man went back to hunt down the little blond cunt that had caused him so much pain and suffering in the last thirty minutes. As the fat man was looking for the kid's footprints in the dirt and ashes he was stopped by several of his fellow bandits.

"Oi Fat Man, where have you been? You have been missing all the fun!" One of the bandits said as he dropped a sack full of silverware and precious heirlooms from many of the looted houses.

"Yeah, where have you been, you git? We have been doing all the work and you've probably been having some fun with some girl and getting drunk off your ass." Another bandit said as he dropped the body of some farmer he had stabbed to death earlier.

"You all know I fucking hate when you call me Fat Man! And does it look like I have been off having fun, you twats?" The fat man asked as he angrily pointed at the man that had insisted he wasn't doing his part of the job at hand. "Look at me, I'm covered in blood, I got a fucking hole in my hand, and I have burns all over my armor. Does it look like I been having fun at all?"

All of the gathered bandits looked over the fat man and saw that he was indeed covered in blood. He had a stab wound to his left hand, and there were small burn holes over his leather armor. It looked like he had been in a fight and while he had won, the guy or guys that had been on the opposite end had put up one hell of a fight.

"What in the Nine Hells did that to ya?" The third bandit of the gathered group asked.

"If you must know, not that it's any of your business, I'm chasing the little blonde shit that made us start the plan earlier. I almost had him three times now but the little bastard keeps sacrificing his friends to get away. I'm going to find him and gut that boy in front of his mother. And while he's laying there dying, I'll make him watch me when I turn his sister into a woman!" The fat man said with a foul tone as he waved his knife around in a gutting motion.

"You have been chasing that little blonde boy this whole time?" The first bandit asked before breaking out into a hard laugh. "Are you stupid or something? You really let that little shit get away and even stab you in the fucking hand?"

"That _little shit_ is harder to kill than you think. Either help me find the little cunt or get out of my way!" The fat man yelled as he pointed his knife at the laughing bandit.

The other bandits were having a good laugh about the fat man's obsession with killing one ten-year-old boy when one of them spotted that very same ten-year-old sneaking behind one of the houses that hadn't been looted yet.

"Hey Fat Man I just spotted the little cunt. He just went into the cobbler's house. We haven't looted it yet but we already pulled the old git out of bed and slit his throat I even had to go at his wife as well. There was a third room but I didn't find anyone in there unless…" The bandit never finished as the others had all left him behind. The fat man upon hearing that his target was close tore off in a sprint screaming more death threats at the boy. The others followed out of morbid curiosity to see if this blonde boy was really that good at escaping.

Conarth slipped by several more of the bandits as he made his way up to the Cobbler's house. The front of the house was set up as the workshop while the back of the building was the home of Lark and his family. Conarth quickly ducked behind the building when he was spotted by one of the bandits. It wasn't long after he had made it to the cellar doors that the sounds of more death threats split the still air. The fat man was coming for him so he had to find Lark and the two of them needed to escape the village to get help.

Conarth pulled open the cellar door and ran down the steps into the dark room under the house. It took him several moments of fumbling in the dark to find the steps that led up into the house. After entering the house Conarth found it was in ruins with most of the furniture broken or tossed about. There was blood on the floor in several places and drag marks leading to the front door. He didn't want to think about what had happened in here he just needed to find Lark and go get help. Conarth quickly went to Lark's room and barricaded himself in before crawling under Lark's bed. Once under the bed, he located the loose boards on the floor and gave the secret knock. Lark lifted the boards to peer out at the younger boy.

"Good, you're okay. We need to use the secret tunnel to get out of here The bandits are close so we don't have much time." Conarth said in a hushed tone.

"No way I'm leaving my hiding spot. I don't want to die. Just get out of here before they find us both. I don't want to die like my father did." Lark said with a quiver to his voice. Just leave, get out of here and go get Timith, he's the brave one."

"He's dead, Lark and so is Mathis. It's just you and me left. I don't know if Loris is okay. When I was coming here to get you I saw that his house wasn't looted yet so he might be okay but we need to get ouuuu-" Conarth was cut off as he was snatched from under the bed by his legs. Lark just dropped the floorboards and tried to be as quiet as possible.

"Surprise, you little blonde cunt; I got your ass now. Don't even try any of the shit from earlier either". The fat man said as he tossed the boy into a corner. "Who the hell were you talking to, boy? Where is the other little pissant I'm going to have to kill first before I get to carving you up?"

Conarth stayed quiet as he looked over the room for a way out and saw he only had two avenues of escape, out the window next to where the fat man was standing or back out the bedroom door. If the fat man had come alone out then the bedroom door was the best plan but if more bandits had come with the fat man that would be a quite literal dead end.

"So where's your fucking miracle meatshield at boy? Is he going jump out from the closet or is he hiding under the fucking bed? Tell me where the other little cunt I need to kill is because I want to get that over with before I really get into killing you slowly."

"It's just me here. I wasn't… I wasn't talking to anyone…" Conarth said quickly.

"Don't you lie to me, boy. You wouldn't have come here unless you had a friend or some way out of… Wait a minute, you were under the bed so that means it has to be in the floor." The fat man said as he flipped the bed over and began stabbing at the floorboards until he found a set of loose boards. The fat man crouched down and pried the loose boards up with the edge of his knife. Once he had a hold of the boards he pulled them up off a hole in the floor inside the hole was another cowering boy. Not wasting any time to let the new boy get a chance to attack him the fat man pulled the trembling sandy brown haired boy out of his hiding place.

The fat man tossed the boy over by Conarth as he called one of the other bandits in to hold Conarth while he dealt with the new miracle meatshield that the little blonde cunt had run to for help. Once Jorniel, a tall lanky idiot of a man with thick features and a sloping forehead had Conarth in his tight grip with a hand over the blonde boy's mouth to silence him the fat man seemed to relax a bit.

"Now I know that this is the best of situations here. I have been chasing your little blonde ass all over this Gods forsaken village for almost an hour now and I'm fucking tired of it. I'm going enjoy killing you, boy but first I"m going to kill your friend so you don't get the chance to pop off and find another one to save your ass by dying in your place." The fat man explained as he paced back in front of Lark. "How do we kill you now boy? Do we just bleed you or slit ya open and leave for the crows in the morning? Maybe find some hungry rats and a bucket?"

Two more bandits walked in carrying some old shoes and the laces for them. Both bandits had angry looks on their face as they dropped the old children's shoes then took in the sight of what was going on. "Hey Fat Man, is this the little blonde twat that's been giving ya the run around all night?"

"If you fools must know, yes and don't call me Fat Man, I have a name you know!" The fat man countered before he looked over at the stuff the others had dropped all over the floor. "What's all of that there then?" The fat man asked pointing to the old shoes.

"This place is full of junk and shoes. All the old git had was about 30 silver and a few small gems in the wife's jewelry box the rest is just trash for making shoes." One of the two bandits said with an angry grunt.

"Old shoes you say. Well, I just got an idea for how I'm going to kill this little-scared cunt before I get to some real work killing the blonde one." The fat man said as he picked up one of the old shoes and a long thick lace string before walking over to Lark who was in the corner of the room crying into his arms while praying to the Gods to save him.

"Ok cunt, ya got one chance to live. If you eat this old shoe I let you go. You can run away to the woods and live but your blonde friend over there is as good as dead. If you don't eat it well I got this knife and it's already been ta work on a few of your friends already. So what will it be the shoe or the knife?" The fat man asked Lark as the boy looked up at him.

Lark took a look at the shoe then looked at Conarth who was struggling in the bandit's grip screaming something to him. With the man's meaty hand in the way, Lark could not make out anything Conarth was saying. All Lark wanted to do was escape and get off this hellish nightmare and if eating an old leather shoe was his only way out then he would eat the shoe. Lark looked back up at the fat man and with trembling hands snatched the shoe he had when he was four from the man's hand and started chewing on the toe of it. The leather was old and musty, it tasted stale and dirty from sitting in the bottom of a crate in the back of his father's workshop. It took a minute or so to moisten the leather enough to get a chunk to pull away from the shoe, once that was done Lark worked his jaw hard to grind up the old leather in the salty molding mush. It took him several tries to swallow. Even after he swallowed the first mouthful of old shoe it was still threatening to come back up violently all over the floor. Lark had to swallow several more times to keep the shoe mush and bile from exiting his throat and mouth before he took another bite

"Look, boys, the little cunt is really doing it. He's fucking eating the shoe like his life depends on it!" The fat man said with a chuckle. The others joined in and the watched the show. Conarth watched in horror knowing full well that neither the fat man nor any of the bandits were going to let them live. All of this was just some cruel joke before they killed them both. Conarth tried his hardest to get free to give Lark a chance to escape but no matter what he did the man holdinghim was just too strong, his grip too tight to break free from. At this rate he was going to have to watch another of his friends die.

"Hey boy, remember what I said about letting you live if you ate that shoe?" The fat man asked Lark as he crouched down close to the boy. Lark looked up with the shoe still in his mouth as he was trying to get another chunk of leather to break off and nodded his head yes. "Well, the thing about this … I lied!" The fat man said as he shoved the shoe hard into Lark's mouth wedging it violently, Lark struggled hard trying to prevent his airway from being cut off but the fat man was too strong and the shoe slipped past his lips deep into his mouth before it got stuck in his throat nearly cutting off his entire airway as bile and leather vomit lurched up into his overfilled mouth and throat; once the shoe was as deep as it would go causing the boy's eyes to roll into his head the fat man looped the shoestring around the boy's throat several times and pulled it tight choking off any air left in the boy's lungs.

It took several minutes but the fat man strangled Lark to death and the whole time he made sure Conarth had a good view of his struggling friends face. Once the boy had stopped struggling and lay limp, the life in him all but gone, the fat man lifted him up using the string and shook the boy hard several times until everyone in the room heard his neck snap like a twig that had been stepped on. The fat man quickly dropped the dead boy's body with a huff before he turned to Conarth.

"Now that is out of the way I think it's time I... **oh bloody hell not this shite again**!" The fat man yelled as he watched the blonde boy bite into Jorniel's hand hard. The boy bit down so hard that it drew blood causing Jorniel to slap the boy across the face hard. The slap knocked Conarth out of the room and into the hallway. While the boy was a little dazed he quickly got his wits about himself and took off in a dead run for the open front door. All the bandits stood there a moment and marveled at how good the boy was at escaping and could see why the Fat Man had so much hate for the boy. This moment of awe did not last long as the fat man went on another rage-filled rant, threatening to kill the other bandits if they didn't help catch the little blonde shit. The bandits were falling over each other trying to chase after the boy and get away from the fat man's rage lest he kill them too.

"When I'm done with you even the abyss is going to reject my soul! **I WILL FORCE FEED YOU YOUR OWN BRAIN BEFORE YOU DIE YOU MISERABLE STINKING LITTLE TWAT! I WILL MASSACRE YOU AND MAKE BAGPIPES FROM YOUR ENTRAILS YOU WRETCHED PUNY INSIGNIFICANT WASTE OF SKIN!** " The fat man yelled like a rabid dog as he ran after Conarth who had made it back to the village square.

At this point, all of the buildings in the village save a few houses near the far end of town were on fire or burned to the ground. Many of the dirt roads between the burning buildings were filled with the bodies of the men and young boys of the village. All of them had been killed in some fashion, some more brutal than others. Some of them looked like they had put up a fight and had been cut down for it while others looked like they had been killed in their sleep with slices to their throats or stab wounds in their chests. There were a few women laying among the piles of corpses too, some of the mothers and even a few of the older girls had tried to fight and had been slain in the process. All of the women and young girls left alive were being herded into wagons at the far end of the village near Conarth's house.

Realizing he had left his mother and sisters alone in the house when this all began, Conarth stopped heading for the tower and doubled back toward his house. He had to save his family otherwise he would never be able to look his father in the face ever again. Conarth didn't bother trying to hide as most of the buildings in the areas he would normally think to hide behind or in were on fire on or reduced to smoldering piles of ashes save for a few homes at the back of the village. The bandits seemed to be using the wagons and a few houses as a staging area for collecting their looted treasures. It didn't take Conarth long to make his way through the village proper which meant that the fat man and his friends were no doubt following right behind him in hot pursuit. Soon, Conarth made it to his destination but his blood ran cold at the horror of what he saw.

The small cottage that Conarth has grown up in, the only place he truly called home had joined the ranks of home after home that had been consumed by the unforgiving crimson tide of flame, everything from his father's equipment to his childhood toys were no longer recognizable amid the twisted blanket of soot, brick, and wood. As Conarth approached the last dying embers he caught a glimpse of what used to be his bed, his dresser, his toy box and he wept. He had little time to mourn the loss of his childhood however before a much greater pain swept over him at the sight of the four charred and broken corpses of his mother and sisters, by trudging after his friends and making sport of the fat man; Conarth had abandoned his family to die a horrible and painful death. Broken and defeated, Conarth lay face down in the ashes and shook with uncontrollable sorrow; he had failed and as a result, his family was gone.

" **I'M GOING TO POUND YOU INTO PASTE YOU QUIVERING PISS STAIN! I WILL MAKE YOUR SPINE MY FOOTSTOOL! I'LL… I'LL…** " The roaring voice of the fat man was stopped briefly as he and his friends once again caught up with the little blond shit that they had been chasing for the last hour and found him sobbing in a pile of ashes.

"Oh, what's wrong, kid?" Jorniel asked with a smirk. "Did mommy and your little sisters bite it?" he took a few careful and playful steps towards Conarth and pulled out his sword. "Shame that is, I would've loved to take a swing at her before the flame did. I bet she was a screamer, that one"

Conarth looked up at his assailants, his face a mask of tears before looking back down. "J-just do it, already. I'm done running"

"So ya finally grew a pair did you, you little cunt?" The fat man asked with a victorious smirk. "Ready to face your death like a man?". Raising his knife to finally kill the bane of his existence, the fat man relished every moment.

Conarth was ready to close his eyes and accept his fate when a familiar nervous voice filled the dead silence of the village.

"Leave my friend alone!" The meek voiced ginger boy called out, it was Loris and Conarth's last remaining friend was wielding a gold-plated hammer that was twice his size, Conarth immediately recognized it as the baker's old weapon from many of the adventuring tales that he had told the children during their visits, in the hands of a fully grown adult the hammer would strike fear into the hearts of all but the darkest of foes, but in the hands of Loris it only served to make the lanky boy look more pathetic. "I-I won't ask twice".

" **SON OF A NASHKEL WHORE WHERE DO THESE BHAAL DAMNED TWATS KEEP COMING FROM!** " The fat man roared as he lunged directly at Loris. "I'm putting a stop to this never-ending parade of meat shields". Without giving Loris any time to react, the fat man slapped the hammer out from under him and grabbed the freckled boy by the arm, nearly snapping it in half. Loris let out a wordless scream of pain as the fat man proceeded to flip the child upside down and force his legs apart breaking them in several places in one painful instant, with three broken limbs, Loris could no longer struggle and the fat man simply tossed him into the still raging flames of a nearby home, while the boy could no longer be seen he was surely suffering a slow and painful death and for a few moments his tortured screams split the air for everyone still in the village to hear. Conarth's last remaining friend was dead.

"Alright then" Jorniel sighed impatiently, drawing his sword once more. "Let's kill the little bastard then"

"Nobody's killing that little cunt but me," The fat man hissed angrily. "Understood?"

Jorniel held up his hands in mock protest and smirked slightly. "Now, Vicent. Don't you think I've earned a kill? You killed the rest of the little brats; be reasonable, won't you"

Vicent's eyes nearly glowed with hatred the mere second his real name was uttered, he turned towards Jorniel, smiled and patted his friend on the back before plunging the knife he used to kill the mayor not an hour ago into his fellow mercenaries chest and out the other side. "I won't"

As the double scene of death played out before him, Conarth's already broken will crumble further, he didn't say a word as Vicent picked up Jorniel's sword and approached him quickly and quietly.

"Games over, you little shit" Vicent growled. "No more running, no more tricks, no more **FUCKING MEATSHIELDS!...DIEEE!** ".

As Vicent swung the sword, Conarth simply closed his eyes and waited amid the now completely silent village as death finally and mercifully took him.

 **(Inside of Drakarth Tower)**

With their drinking challenges aside, the soldiers of the second round of the Day Watch of Drakarth Tower ate their meals as the first round of the Night Watch filed into the dining hall just fresh from bed to begin the night rounds. The two squads ate together just after the Chief gave Salva Harvin, the squad leader of the Night Watch, his report on the Day Watch patrols of the area. After meals and a bit of small talk were had the Day Watch retired for the night.

In the barracks, Gavid lay in his bunk trying to sleep as he listened to Horace and Grekor trying to out snore one another and going over the events of his day in the woods. He had killed several small animals to keep his _urges_ at bay, he had to least he does that horrible thing again. Never again would give into the voices and kill another person unless he had no choice. So far the drinking and hunting were doing the trick to keep the _urges_ from overwhelming his good nature but Gavid did worry that one day it would become too much and he would kill again. After ruminating over his problems and the boys he scared half to death earlier that day Gavid decided that sleep may give the answers he sought, or would at least be a way to escape it for a few hours. Sleep did not come easy but after an hour of trying it found him.

It was an hour or so after Gavid had finally gotten to sleep when he was jolted awake by a bright light filling the room from the window of the barracks, the blackish blue night sky was turned a crimson, orange, and amber yellow as several loud noises arose from down the hall. Several of the second round Night Watch guards in full armor ran by screaming curses and yelling about a raid on the village. The whole of the barracks stirred as the men of the Day Watch were thrust from sleep and running to get ready for a coming battle. The Chief was the first to don his battle armor and was already checking to see what had transpired with one of the Night Watch soldiers and getting orders for his men. For the Day Watch guards years of training kicked in and they all rolled from bed and donned their armor as quickly and thoroughly as possible before gathering their weapons and waiting for orders. Gavid and two other Day Watch members had wandered over to the windows that overlooked the village, to see what was happening while they awaited orders and they were horrified at the sight before them.

Everything was ablaze: the church, the tavern, the schoolhouse, everything as far as the eye could see. Screams of death and sorrow emanated from the once peaceful village as a plume of smoke and ash filled the air. It was certain to have been visible from several miles away, no doubt one of the other towers in the area had seen the fire and they were sending someone to investigate but by then it would be far too late to do anything of value. The sheer level of terror felt by those in its immediate vicinity would shake the best of men to their very soul. Perhaps the most horrific thing of all, however, was the sound of steady marching as seven armor-clad figures came into view headed straight for the tower itself, led by an even more terrifying figure whose eyes pierced the night like hellfire. Gavid laid eyes on the lead figure and in his very soul he felt a fear, a deep dark fear that pulled at him to run, to fight, to kill and without mercy. For some reason, he could not look away from the frightening armored figure who seemed to be the mastermind behind all of the death and chaos going on at the moment.

"By the gods, it's the village!" Horace shouted in horror. "Somebody's destroyed the village!"

"We've got incoming too," Gavid added after being pulled for his terror induced reverie. "I'll go prepare the tower defenses with the Night Watch the rest of you should probably get ready for the fight of your lives."

"Don't worry, Gavid," Grekor grunted viciously. "We'll be ready; these scum will pay for what they did to our village."

Gavid nodded grimly as he retreated further into the tower until he ran into the Chef and Salva in the central hallway of the tower. After giving his report on what he had seen Gavid was ordered to lead the Night Watch's second defensive line and make sure the signal fires were ready to be lit in case the first line of defense failed and a warning needs to go out. Gavid plead with his superiors to let him fight in the first defense line but they would not have it. He was needed elsewhere.

Gavid relented after the Chief made it a direct order and sent the young guard on his way, Gavid wasn't happy about being pushed back from the front lines, it wasn't that he did not trust the determination and skill of his comrades, but something about the approaching band of marauders gave him a deep sense of foreboding, especially the figure leading the charge. When Gavid saw the chilling eyes of his foe he was shaken to his core with the dark feelings of his past, feelings that he did not wish to bring to the surface. Though he did not know why Gavid felt an unnerving sense of familiarity as the figure came steadily closer into view.

It didn't take Gavid long to make to the third floor of the tower where the bulk of the Night Watch was waiting, setting up barricades, preparing the tower's outer defenses and some were praying to their Gods. Fear was heavy in the air and Gavid knew that these men were scared but not of the fight ahead as some of them had been in wartime campaigns. No the fear that the men of the Night Watch had was the fear of death, plain and simple, an unnatural surreal death at the hands of some beast born of pure evil in the deepest bowels of The Abyss.

Gavid swallowed the bile in his throat and steeled himself for the fight ahead as he began barking orders and positioning men in ready areas before heading up the stairs with three men to man the signal fires. Once everything was in place he went back downstairs and wait by the stairwell waiting for the signal to send his men into the fray. Gavid hoped that he wouldn't have to give an order that sent these men to their deaths.

 **(Drakarth Main Hall)**

The hall was still as a tomb as the guards of Drakarth Tower waited behind turned over tables with weapons and shields ready to defend themselves from the assault just behind their front door. For several minutes nothing happened as the guards tensed up in the silence, all of them held their breath and sweat beaded their foreheads as they waited for the march of destruction to come for them. When it seemed like nothing would happen the front doors exploded from the hinges in a shower of splinters and bent metal, in the broken frame of the door stood a tall figure clad in black spiked full plate, wielding a greatsword one-handed, and in the other hand he held a large kite shield embossed with the bones of a slain demon.

"Prepare yourselves for death, worms, for I shall have my prize this night!" Sarevok shouted before he leveled his sword at the Chief. "You and I shall do battle while your men are put to the slaughter by my forces. Tremble in fear and powerlessness as you watch your men die. Attack and kill them all!" After he yelled for battle Tamoko and six armored soldiers flooded in from behind their leader and raced forward to kill the guards of the tower.

The Chief lifted his halberd, Broken Star, and lowered his visor with a grunt of pride. He was a man of 20 years of loyal service to the crown and had seen many a battle, he would not be taken down this night by some young upstart with delusions of being a Warlord. "Prepare yourself for a real battle boy, to arms my men for the Gods, King, and Country!" The Chief yelled before he leaped over the table he was standing behind and lunged past a woman in armor with a mace as he struck at Sarevok.

As the Chief's blow was part way to connecting Tamoko raised her mace to attack the man that dared to take Sarevok on, even if Sarevok had invited him to do so. She was part way through her swing at the charging Captain when she suddenly changed direction and swung away from her original target to have the mace meet with a morning star mid-air. The Night Watch Captain had charged in with the rest of his men hot on his heels to do battle with the invading forces. Tamoko had caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye just in time to change her swing and use its momentum to block an attack that would have crippled her. The rest of the split-second scene was the sound of the guards clashing with the other six intruders, the Chief had faith in the men of the tower, he had to as he needed to concentrate on the leader of this foolish war party.

There was a mighty clash as steel met steel. Swords, bladed heads of spears and the stone heads of maces all clashed in the main hall, yells of courage were countered by curses of death. The Chief swung with all of his might as the halberd smashed into the bone and metal of the kite shield; the man holding it just laughed. The large figure in the spiked plate took a hard stance as he brought his sword to bear, it was a cleaving blow or it would have been if not for the Chief's quick reflexes. Before the sword could find its mark the older man pulled back and spun Broken Star having the weighted end meet the blade at the finishing stroke of its arc. There was a powerful clang and the halberd shook like a leaf in a heavy storm. The force of the blow rattled the Chief's armor and nearly tore his weapon from his hands.

' _By the Gods, he has the power of a giant! I must be careful or he will kill me in one blow_ ,' The Chief thought as he steadied his hands and gripped Broken Star hard before taking his stance once again. Before he could attack his opponent went on the offensive coming at him with several one-handed swings, each with the crushing force of a rockslide. The Chief had no choice but to go on the defensive by blocking, evading, or redirecting the attacks. Each blow that was blocked or redirected crushed a table, broke a pillar of stone or dented the Chief's armor. As the moments passed the full plated warrior's attacks seemed to grow in speed and power causing more and more damage to the surrounding area and the Chief's armor was beginning to reach its protective limits. Bits of it were showing tears or large cracks, in some of the thicker pieces bit of metal had been peeled away like scraps of a shiny parchment.

' _He has to run out of strength soon, at the rate he's attacking me he will tire and when he does that will give me my chance to strike. I just have to weather the storm until then_ ,' the Chief thought as he blocked another hard blow meant to crush his skull. The pattern of strikes was so precise and fast that there was an only slight little pause between the string of blows, so even when a lag in the flurry of strikes came it was only a few seconds longer before the next onslaught began. There was never enough time for the Chief to use his considerable speed to counter-attack, no he would have to wait until his opponent switched to defense to catch his breath to counter and when he did he needed his counterattack to be a disabling or killing blow.

All around him the Chief saw his men fight and he saw them dying to this band of raiders. The force of 11 had been reduced to just five counting the Chief. Only Salva, Grekor, Denmir, and Horace were facing off against the armored woman and three of the raiders she was leading. Three of the raiders lay among the dead of the tower guards. The Chief's heart sank as so many of his men had died and still, they could not roust these intruders from the tower to go save the village. So many lives cut short due to inexperience and a surprising amount of skill from two of the intruders.

' _If I had drilled them more often they might have survived. If I had been more a leader than their friend they would be alive. If I had trained myself harder I could have saved them.' The Chief thought somberly as he parried another sword strike. 'When did I forget what it meant to be a soldier of the kingdom? I have been through so many battles, fights and even a few land skirmishes and yet have I forgotten how to truly fight? Why did I let them all die to an upstart warlord with petty thugs for troops? Have I really become that spineless?'_

At the moment the Chief was distracted by his defeatist thoughts and looked away from his opponent for a hair's breadth, Sarevok took this momentarily distracted look as his best chance to strike. He swung his greatsword upward from his last strike and hit hard against the underside of the set halberd knocking it from the Chief's hands. Broken Star spun hard several times before it hit and stuck to one of the wooden buttresses that held up the second floor. As the Chief stared up at his lost weapon in disbelief of the warlord's power he realized his mistake in taking his eyes off of his opponent far too late. As the Chief leveled his eyes on the armored warrior in front of him he was smashed in the chest by the massive and imposing kite shield with a speed and force unheard or seen by any seasoned soldier. The devastating blow sent the older man flying backward a good ten feet before he hit a wall stunned from the impact. Sarevok wasted no time in closing the distance before leveling the finishing blow. The slice of the blade crushed through the Chief's right shoulder plate and ripped a gaping wound through it all the way to the older man's lower chest. The massive blade filled with dark energy crushed and ripped armor and flesh alike exposing the Chief's ribs and vital organs to the hot and battle heavy air. The older man's screams of pain were muffled by the torrent of blood he coughed up from having his internals crushed and ripped apart.

"I told you fool, you would watch as your men died and that I would have my prize. You never had a chance at beating me. I was just toying with you to bring about a certain mood for what's to come, hahaha." Sarevok said with a laugh as he slowly pulled his sword from the man's chest with a sharp twist at the end."Oh, what is this, could it be that my prey has finally come out of hiding?" Sarevok said to himself as he sensed the presence of dark intent similar to his own, it was weaker and somewhat suppressed but still the mark of someone with the same blood as him.

It was at the moment that Sarevok pulled his sword free of the Chief's crushed chest that Gavid entered the hall from the stairwell and witnessed his squad leader's death. Gavid stood there in shock and anger; all of his thoughts betrayed him, he felt nothing but the urge to kill call out to him. The voices that just echoed in the back of his mind become a crystal clear roaring sound. At that moment everything in him boiled over into one overriding command, **KILL THEM ALL, MURDER EVERYONE!**

Gavid didn't move for a moment as his friends began to circle up around him. They had seen the Chief take that final hit and watched as the armored man had finished him off with a single stab. The loss of the Chief had been a huge blow to the confidence of the tower guards but they were determined to see the battle through to the end in the Chief's name.

"Gavid get yourself together, we need you! We are up to our necks in the fray and it's not looking good." Salva said as he held his morningstar at the ready.

"Get out of the way and keep the big guy busy; I'm about to kill all of his friends first then he's next…" Gavid said in a dark tone as he picked up two of the blooded longswords. At that moment all of his friends felt a chill of darkness spill past them, the hairs on the back of their necks stood up. Fear gripped them all as they felt as if a dark spirit had settled over them all Gavid's dark aura was pulsing through the area like a fountain of death and malice. Before anyone could muster a word of warning or anything else Gavid jumped over them and raced toward the woman in armor holding a mace. The others were too stunned or frightened at the speed and fury Gavid displayed to stop him. All they could do for a few tense seconds was watch as events played out.

Tamoko saw the young guard running toward her with long reckless strides and before she could raise her shield to block she was struck by both swords he carried. The force of the double strike lifted her off the ground about five feet in the air. Tamoko quickly tried to right herself in midair to land on her feet but before she could complete the full midair turn Gavid had jumped up and kicked her in her exposed left side with the force of a charging troll. The second blow sent her careening across the battle damaged room to land in a pile rubble next to the destroyed tower doors with a loud thud. Tamoko lay there for a moment in shock before finally managing to shake off the broken bits of door and stone as well as the daze she was in.

"By the Gods where did all of that strength come from!" **ONLY SAREV-** " Tamoko never finished her sentence as she had to defend herself from a morning star hit from Salva who had entered the fray once again. "Feel my wrath unleashed woman. Worry not about Gavid for I am your opponent now!" Salva yelled as he swung his morningstar hard at Tamoko who just blocked it with her shield then launched her own attack with her mace. This was the beginning of a new dance of heavy blows and shield blocks between the two combatants. Tamoko was growing rather tired of the Night Watch Captain as his skill with his morning star was at rival levels with her weapon skills. If this kept up there was a small chance she could lose.

After seeing Gavid take on the woman in armor and sending her flying with just two strikes then seeing Salva race in to confront the woman in a dance of bludgeoning power, the other tower guards spirit of battle was reignited by both displays of fierce and brutal power. They yelled a heavy battle cry as they all began to attack the intruders at once; they would avenge their fallen comrades. As Gavid had asked them, Horace, Denmir, and Grekor all attacked the tall man in full plate to keep him busy until the others in his band could be dealt with. The soldiers gave it their all in an all-out attack as a short sword, a spear, and a great ax all came to bear against the large armored figure only to be deflected by his sword and shield. The fight with the tall armored warlord would not be easy but they would buy Gavid and Salva as much time as they could.

"You fools don't have the strength to take me on but I will give you a chance to make your deaths less pathetic, not that it will matter," Sarevok said with a laugh before he raised his greatsword and kite shield while laughing darkly as he set his immovable stance waiting for the next attacks from the three underpowered soldiers.

Gavid was still paused waiting for the woman to react when Salva rushed past him. The taller man just pointed to the other three intruders that had just been standing there dumbfounded. It Seemed that Salva had unfinished business with the armored women so Gavid would leave that fight to him. He quickly glanced over at his friends and heard them charge at the leader of the war party. All of their attacks had been deflected but they had the leaders attention, this meant Gavid could give in to his urges and kill to his heart's content without having to worry about his friends getting in the way. Gavid turned his attention back to the three mercenaries trying to surround him to kill him as quickly as possible. They had finally gotten over their shock and were getting ready for battle or death as Gavid thought with a slight dark smirk. All three of the raiders had a longsword and dagger in hand, each one seemed to know how to use the pair of weapons but that didn't matter to Gavid. No, it just meant he would have more fun showing them what a waste of effort it would be trying to defend themselves from the death that was coming for them.

The three men closed the distance between them and Gavid forming a half circle in front of their target before the first one attacked from the right side. He came at his opponent fast and hard, slashing with the longsword as he held the dagger in a reverse grip waiting for the right moment to strike with it. That moment never came as Gavid blocked with his left sword sending the raider's sword flying off to the side, Gavid thrust the right sword forward rapidly at the same time aiming for the man's chest. The blade pierced the raider's thick leather armor slicing right into his chest hitting a lung. The man screamed as he coughed up a torrent of blood before Gavid ripped the sword out while kicking with such force that the wounded man was sent flying backward into the air.

The dying man hit the ground with a wet thud a foot from where he had been standing moments earlier. The raider seemed to be on death's door, in mere moments the hole in his lung was filled with blood drowning him in a sea of red death. Gavid wasn't done with him though; he had just gotten started with his killing spree. These men and their friends would know fear and would die brutally after knowing they had no way of escaping it. Gavid was determined to give his inner voices the bloodshed they so desperately cried out for and to silence the man that dared attack his new home. With patient and practiced steps, Gavid walked upon his victim and stomped hard on the dying man's chest making him cough up more blood. All the while he took great pleasure in hearing the sound of the man's ribs bowing inward before breaking amid the man's muffled screams of pain. Several hard stomps and minutes of crazed laughter later, Gavid left his would-be assailant an unidentifiable puddle of human goo and bloody armor.

The other two raiders had watched the first man die in a merciless fashion at the hands of one of the tower guards and were having seconds thoughts about attacking him. They would not get long to contemplate their actions as Gavid looked up at the two bewildered men with a dark smile before he attacked the raider that had been standing in the middle. The attack was fast, it was far faster than the mercenary had been ready for. Gavid at one moment had been in front of him then the twin strikes from the longswords had come from the right side, the first sword hit the raider's left arm while the second had gored deep into his left side. Before the raider could react Gavid was gone and attacking from the front, again the swords hit the bleeding man slicing deep into his right shoulder and the center of his chest. The man reacted far too slowly again and Gavid was gone only to strike from behind slicing up the raider's waist and left thigh. On and on it went with Gavid striking the raider with two quick attacks then dashing or ducking away, his movements too fast for the raider to track or defend against. Even the second mercenary standing there was having a hard time tracking Gavid as he bobbed and weaved between the two of them as he only attacked the one man wanting to cut him into little pieces. It was unreal that the tower guard was that fast but there was no denying it as the two soldiers tried to stop a man faster than their eyes could track.

"Does it hurt? I hope it does because I'm going to keep cutting you up! Going to keep slicing until there's nothing left... then your friend is next!" Gavid taunted as he kept dodging and cutting the intruder into a bloody mess while his comrade watched and tried in vain to defend against Gavid's relentless attacks.

At the back of the hall, there was a great crash as Grekor's great ax smashed into Sarevok's shield with the force of a landslide. Though the blow was mighty, Sarevok like a mountain did not bow nor did he move versus the thunderous storm that was Grekor. The mighty half-orc was pushed back slightly from the blow but he was not deterred and leveled another mighty blow to crush the man in front of him. Sarevok saw the strike coming and as Grekor was in mid-swing Sarevok struck at the half-orc's right arm with a crushing blow from the demon powered greatsword. The blow caught him across the upper portion of his back and right shoulder causing Grekor to let go of his ax as his right arm was completely severed from his body, flopping on the ground with a slight thud. Grekor howled as blood gushed from the jagged wound.

The great ax slipped from Grekor's left hand and went wide spinning hard in the air and smashed into Denmir as he was charging in with his spear set to gore one of Sarevok's legs. Denmir saw the ax coming and knew he had no time to dodge it nor could he deflect it, the halfling just closed his eyes and waited to see the afterlife. The ax struck the middle of his head and cleaved the unsuspecting halfling into two ragged bloody pieces of twitching flesh. His opponent only laughed as the half-orc held the bloody stump and fell to his knees in pain. "I told you, you never had a chance against me. Now face your death like the worm that you are! " Sarevok said with a cruel sneer before he raised his greatsword and brought down a crushing blow against the half-orc's skull. There was a disgusting crushing sound as the half-orc was split down the middle with a shower of blood.

Horace cried out in horror as he watched Grekor get mutilated and the half orc's ax end the life of Denmir in a moment of cruel irony. The broken half-elf just dropped his short sword and shield as he sank to his knees crying. Sarevok saw this and laughed as he walked over to the sobbing half-elf. He sheathed his sword and placed his shield on his back before bending down and picking the sobbing half-elf up by the head. Holding the broken man in his mighty grip Sarevok laughed at the tower guard's pain and broken will. "You are pathetic and weak but fear not, I will send you to be with your friends in a moment. I will grant you a quick death, it is more than a worm like you deserves." Sarevok said as he squeezed the half-elf's head in his massive armored palms. Horace was brought out of his broken state by the massive pressure on either side of his head. When he looked up his skull was clamped heavily in both hands of the raider's leader and he was crushing the life out of him. Horace kicked and screamed as he tried to get out of Sarevok's grip but it was no use and soon the pressure on the sides of his skull become so great that sound lost meaning, his vision blurred, and the several moments of screaming quickly went silent. There was only the loud sound of cracking bones and dark laughter. Horace by this point had lost consciousness as his skull gave up the fight against the crushing force of Sarevok's palms and caved in a like rotted fruit and stained both Sarevok's armor and the castle grounds with what was left of his blood and grey matter. There was a loud thud as Sarevok dropped the mutilated half-elf body to the blood-stained floor with a laugh.

Once the last of the fodder was out of the way Sarevok turned to see Gavid cutting down the last of his advance team. It wasn't a huge loss as they were fodder soldiers to draw out his prey, so they had served their purpose and it mattered not to Sarevok that they lived to reap the reward of their efforts. Sarevok also noticed that Tamoko was still fighting one of the tower guards; it seemed that there was at least one skilled fighter. Sarevok was just about to get involved with Tamoko's fight when several more of his men from the village showed up to report their progress. In the shock of the new arrivals, the Night Watch Captain lost focus on his opponent to which Tamoko capitalized on and crushed Salva's right shoulder before she finished him off with a brutal blow to the crown of his helm.

Gavid had just finished off the last of the raiders he had been fighting only to see nine more raiders show up. He was about to join Salva in battle when he witnessed the woman in armor finish him off in two devastating blows. Gavid turned to see if he could get help from his friends only to find that they had all been killed by the leader of the invaders. "Grekor, Horace, Denmir! No, Gods why them? Why like this!? **I WILL KILL YOU EVEN IF I HAVE TO GO WITH YOU TO HELL!** " Gavid yelled as he charged the blood-covered man in full plate.

Sarevok just laughed darkly as he raised his shield just before Gavid's swords crashed into it in an attack of rapid and reckless slashes. Gavid was a rabid animal drunk on his own bloodlust and rage, he would kill this man and he would make it hurt or die trying. Sarevok began to feel the force of each one of Gavid's blows to the point his shield started shaking violently from the rapid and fierce onslaught. Soon the rain of sword strikes made Sarevok take a step back then another until he had been pushed back to the far corner of the destroyed hall. At that moment Sarevok knew for sure that the man in front of him attacking him with the force of a wild beast was the target he was looking for. It was now time to show this fool what real power looked like. As Gavid's rain of strikes slowed down Sarevok readied himself for his moment to attack when the blows suddenly stopped. Sarevok lowered the shield slightly to see a winded guard standing at the ready to counter anything that was thrown at him. What intrigued Sarevok the most was the dark look of bloodlust in the man's red eyes. It was the same look in his own yellow eyes it was the power of their true father trying to claw its way out. Yes, this man would be the first of many deaths on his road to power.

Gavid drew several quick breaths as he waited for his opponent to launch a counterattack but none came. For the longest time, the two warriors just stared at each other Gavid with rage-filled eyes and Sarevok with a cold calculating demeanor. Even the soldiers in Sarevok's army stood still waiting to see what would happen. For several minutes all that could be heard was the crackle of the fires raging in the village and several heavy breaths from Gavid. It seems like this would go on and on forever when Sarevok raised his sword high in the air and swung with blinding speed and force at the man in front of him. Gavid watched as the greatsword was raised then swung at him with the force of a coming storm. In the seconds before the sword would hit its mark Gavid sensed that the blow was far more powerful than anything he could block or redirect. In a flash of speed, Gavid dodged to the left running for the stairs as Sarevok's blow smashed into the ground where Gavid had been seconds earlier.

Gavid looked back to see the greatsword crush ten feet of solid stone into dust leaving a small crater where he had been standing. If he had still been standing there he would be a mangled corpse adding to the blood decorating the damaged hall.

"That worm was only a fraction of my power and you were right to run. But how far will you truly get in the end?" Sarevok asked as he pulled his sword from the small hole in the floor he had created before turning to stare coldly at Gavid.

Gavid began to tremble, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and a cold sweat appeared on his brow. This was fear, true fear that he was feeling. Every bone in his body was telling him to run but he was unable to move as long as those cold murderous yellow eyes stared at him. It was like they were digging their way through his flesh to get at his soul. It was in this moment Gavid knew that if he didn't run he was going to die right there.

Sarevok's forces had gathered next to him and it that moment he took his eyes off Gavid giving the terrified man his chance run and run he did. Gavid tore off up the stairs as fast as his legs would carry him screaming for the others to make ready and that the invaders were coming. After he made it to the third floor, the other guards could see the fear in Gavid's eyes and knew that all of the others were dead. The third floor of the tower was to be the final defense line and they would hold it or die trying. Gavid ran past the six guards waiting with crossbows yelling at them to hold the line while he gets the signal fires lit. Taking the steps two at a time Gavid hurried to the roof and as he passed through the door, the three guards he had left to man the signal fires were looking at him with worried looks. They were about to ask what had transpired downstairs in the main hall when there was a flash of light that blinded them all for a moment. When the white in their field of vision was clear there was an old man in robes standing before them with a dark smile on his face. Before any of the guards could grab their weapons or utter words the robed figure raised his hand and pointed at the three men.

"You are in my employer's way and we can't have that. Begone and trouble him no more." Semorn said as he cast Exploded Head on the guards standing to the left and right of the signal fire's altars. The force of the spell caused the two men to grab their heads as pressure began to build. The men screamed violently just before their heads exploded. The force of the two men's heads popping like overinflated bags sent bits of bone fragments towards the third man who fell over screaming as he was blinded and bleeding to death. Semorn saw that he had not yet finished the job and turned to the man laying on the ground holding his bleeding face and screaming about the loss of his eyes.

Semorn smiled darkly before he pointed at the man on the ground. "Vanish from this world," the mage said before a cone of light shot from his finger and hit the guard, the man stopped rolling around and screaming as the light enveloped him. He just laid still as his body began to break up and crumble to dust until there was nothing left of him. After the last of the signal guards were dealt with Semorn turned to the Gavid and eyed him darkly. "You are the last, boy and soon you will be gone just like them," Semorn said with a short chuckle before he advanced on Gavid only to stop when he saw Sarevok appear in the doorway leading down into the tower.

"Semorn, leave him be, he is mine to deal with. Go and gather the others I will be along shortly. This one I will handle personally; he is the target I have been searching for." Sarevok told the mage as he eyed him with contempt.

Semorn just nodded before rushing past Gavid and disappearing behind Sarevok into the tower. Gavid turned to see doom standing by the only escape route. If he was to live he needed to get past him or kill him and both of those options seemed very unlikely at this point. Gavid raised his swords and started to take his stance but stopped as soon as his opponent took his first step toward him. The man did not have his great sword out nor was his shield readied, it was on his back and the sword was in its scabbard. The man wasn't going to strike Gavid down with a crushing sword blow or bludgeon him to death with the kite shield. No, he was going to ring the life out of Gavid with his bare hands. As each heavy step Sarevok took brought him closer to Gavid, Gavid felt fear take hold of him once more.

Ten steps to go, Gavid begin to tremble and falter in his stance. The tips of his gore covered blades scraped the ground as his hands began to shake violently with fear.

Eight steps to go, Gavid began to sweat as his stomach tightened in a knot. All of his instincts were telling him to run but he could not move.

Six steps to go, Gavid dropped both of his swords with a loud clatter of steel on stone. The will to fight now gone all Gavid could think about was running away or finding some way to not die.

Four steps to Go, Gavid began to cry out in fear as he begged for his life. He begged, pleaded, and even offered gold and riches that he no doubt couldn't get a hold of, but at this point, the terrified man would do anything to save his life even pledge it in lifelong servitude to the man coming to kill him.

Two steps to go and Gavid out of options tried to do the only thing left to him, he tried to run for it only to be cornered at the edge of the ramparts where Sarevok reached out with unreal speed and agility to grab his terrified prey by the throat before lifting him into the air.

"You can feel it too can't you? The irresistible pull towards death, towards destruction and mayhem, chaos and disorder. You can feel it in your skin, in your blood, in your soul. It's pulsing in your veins, your blood boiling, the hairs on your neck are trembling aren't they?" Sarevok asked with a dark gleam in his yellow eyes.

"No please don't… I don't know what you're talking about. I am not like you." Gavid rebuked as he tried to pry open Sarevoks steely grip but could not force the fingers holding him tightly apart.

"Don't lie to me. You can't describe it, you don't know why but when you see this level of carnage you can't turn away, you can't take your eyes off of it. But it's more than that, isn't it? I can it feel it from here, that animalistic urge inside you, that carnal beast of death. You've killed before, haven't you? You've heard the voices calling your name and you didn't hesitate did you? You took your first life and then another, and another. More perhaps? Yes, you look as though you've been busy."

"No! No, no, no, no! How do you know about that? How do you know about the voices? You can't know about the urges or the things I did back then. Are you one of their-" The words were choked from Gavids throat as Sarevok tightened his grip before giving his prey a quick shake or two to quit his whining.

"Oh, I know about all your past because I can see it in your eyes. I can see the power you feel when you slash a child's throat or rip out an innocent woman's spine or crush the life out of the enemy, slowly watching the light fade from their eyes. Yes, the power you feel from such violent acts is indescribable. This ecstasy unrivaled, the sheer pleasure you derive from the act of taking a life can't be measured by those who possess untainted blood in any form. The rush you feel when your victim's blood runs down your fingers and stains your clothes. When you litter the ground with their entrails when you finally watch the last spark of hope die. You know it well don't you boy? I saw it and heard it as you murdered my men. Did you enjoy killing them like that? Did it bring you joy watching them suffer under the onslaught of your power as you wrung as much pain as you could from their slashed and broken bodies before they died?" Sarevok asked as he brought Gavid closer to his face so they were eye to eye.

"Yeee- yeeesss! Yes I enjoyed killing them I loved it I wanted to watch them di-" Again Sarevok choked the off the end of Gavids reply. This wasn't about Gavid having a moment so much as it was about Sarevok enjoying his victory.

"Yes, I know that well boy, I know all about that feeling, that overwhelming urge to feed your instincts, that mindless descent into the hellish landscape of your soul that gives you power. Yes, it gives you purpose. You aren't the same without it, are you? Once you begin there is no turning back. This is the true you now, shedding your worthless skin and becoming what are you truly meant to be. Yes you have tried to deny it and even tried to put words to dark urges to label them so that can escape them but you can't, can you?" Sarevok asked as he looked questioningly at Gavid for a moment before continuing.

"It doesn't take much, does it? A mugging or two, perhaps a stray body and your instincts have already taken hold. But here in this tower, it was more than that wasn't it? We've littered the hallways, the walls, and the gates with the blood of your comrades, the bones of those you call kin and the fresh scent of blood drew you right to the battlefield. You can't control yourself, can you? You had to attack my men, you had to attack me and kill us all. That was the only thing on your mind, wasn't it? You had finally given in to that overwhelming urge for death and chaos and for a brief moment you were finally free, finally whole."

Gavid hung there in the air trying to claw at Sarevok's armor to get free, to kill the man toying with his life. Even as his fingers began to bleed and the nails ripped off from him trying to claw though impossible heavy plates of armor. Gavid roared with fury and bloodlust one last time. He wanted to kill, he wanted to watch his enemy die, no he wanted to watch everyone in the tower and the village die. He wanted the pleasure of killing them all, of seeing them all die like those three girls he had killed at the beginning of this cycle of madness and death. Gavid knew deep down that he was a monster trying to become a man. He had pretended to be like everyone else, normal in a sense but he was really a dark blight on the world of good men. He was a monster just like the man in front of him. Perhaps to a much lesser degree, but still a monster just the same.

Gavid could see that the man holding him by the throat was a monster that had embraced that fact and reveled in it. He wore his depravity like a badge of honor and it was that fact that let Gavid knows it was useless to try and fight against someone that was no longer just a man of terrifying power but a true monster in every sense of the word. He was going to die this night and it would be at the hands of a monster pretending to be a man.

"Hahahahahaha. Yes, I can feel your bloodlust and arousal from here. You fear for your life, yes? You cower in the face of one such as I and yet even when you yourself are the victim you can't help but feel a rush of anticipation. Knowing that your life is at an end only seems to arouse the darkness in you more. Hahahahhahaha, you are truly worthy of his blood." Sarevok proclaimed as he began to apply more force to Gavid's throat slowly squeezing the life out of the man. For a moment Gavid seemed to have the will to fight as tried to draw air into his burning lungs and break free from Sarevok's death grip. This was all for naught as Gavid quickly used up any air he had left and began to fade into unconsciousness as his arms fell limply at his sides. The fight in him all but used up in an instant.

"It is a shame that I have to do this, but the weak must be culled for the strong to survive. Surely you understand? Perhaps not, but in the end, your understanding isn't necessary, only your death. If I were a lesser man, I would have asked you to forgive me. But you're probably going to enjoy this, aren't you? Take what solace you will, worm. For I will be the last… and you will go first." Sarevok told his dying prey before he finally crushed his windpipe with a feat of impossible strength. Watching the light begin to fade from his eyes, Sarevok tossed Gavid over the ramparts as if he were a broken ragdoll, sending the guard flying towards the ground to land with a sickening and bone crushing thud. When he had finally hit the rocks below they become stained with blood as it slowly crept out and filled the area with a terrible odor as an unimaginable amount of life essence spilled all over the ground.

Had anyone been left to witness the scene they would have seen the most bizarre detail of all, as Gavid's mangled corpse bled out onto the rocks it began to slowly burn away. First, his armor and flesh faded away, followed rapidly by bone leaving nothing but a sizable pile of ash that had once been the crazed guard. Sarevok watched for a moment as if he knew exactly what had just transpired before quickly turning away to travel back down into the bowels of the tower to face his comrades once again.

"The deed is done," he stated simply. "We waste precious time by remaining here. Open the portal, mage and let us be done with this place."

 **Well, I hope you enjoyed the first official chapter of this story. Sorry, it took so long I'm dedicated to making sure everything is quality instead of rushing things too much. This ended up being WAY longer than I originally anticipated. Next time shouldn't take quite as long and I'm really looking forward to introducing our main character.**

Until Next Time,

TheStoryWizard


	3. Chapter 2: Zaram Maldovar

**Baldur's Gate**

 **Chapter 2: Zaram Maldovar**

 **Candlekeep**

 **2 Mirtul 1368 DR**

As it does every morning in Candlekeep, the sun, shining reddish orange and slowly turning its natural yellow bathed the beautifully crafted stone of the inner grounds first before it began to bleed over onto the rest of the landscape. The birds sung a beautiful morning song, the monks had already begun their chanting; and just as the light began to pierce the room that Zaram Maldovar was sleeping in the young mage in training yawned, stretched out his arms, and awoke as he placed a hand to his temple and massaged the dull ache from his head. He shouldn't have had so many ales the night before but anger was a poor drinking companion and an even worse friend the day after leaving him hungover and with little memory of his nighttime endeavors. As his eyes adjusted to the morning light and Zaram began to truly wake up he noticed that his surroundings were unfamiliar to him, that he was not in his own room like she should be. As he sat up a bit and turned around searching the room for clues to where he was he couldn't help but notice the very beautiful and very naked frame of a young brunette haired half-elf woman and looked down to realize that he was also naked.

The sleeping woman was of fair skin, with a round slender face, her features were soft with a childish edge to them. While her face gave the appearance of a mischievous child her body was that of a full woman in her prime, full of shapely curves and beauty that any man with eyes in his head would clearly notice. This fact was not lost on Zaram before he stopped staring and realized how grave of a situation he was in.

Panic gripped him for a moment as he had done it again, he had gotten drunk and gone to bed with some beautiful stranger. Gorion was going to beat him black and blue if he got caught doing this again; he had to get his clothes and get out of the room before the woman in the bed woke up or worse yet Gorion came looking for him. Zaram searched the room for his robes trying to come up with a good lie as to why he was gone all night when his movements caused the woman to wake with a slight yawn and a warm smile on her face as she stared up at Zaram. Clearly, she remembered the events of last night, but Zaram had already surmised that he must have been far too drunk to recall any of what he had said or did with the young lady.

"Good morning, Zarrie," the woman said in a giddy and slightly immature manner before closing the gap between them and laying her head on Zaram's chest, sighing softly and looking up at her lover with fluttering eyes. Zaram rolled his eyes slightly as he met the woman's eyes, whom he now was looking at for the first time in his memory, with a warm but confused smile. "I hope you slept well; you certainly should have after all that." The passionate memories of the night before still fresh on her mind as a smile crossed her lips while she played with a tuft of Zaram's hair.

Zaram kept his smile and decided it was in his best interests to lie through his teeth, although with as beautiful as the girl was he did wish he could remember the night with her.. "Yes, I slept quite well, my sweet," he continued to look around for his missing robes. He soon found them tucked neatly under the bed as he tried not to seem as if he forgot where he placed them. "You as well, I hope."

The woman's nodded and she hugged Zaram and lightly stroked his arm. "Like a log, but what woman wouldn't after all of that. You were like a beast you naughty boy," she stated in a more sensual manner. "Mayhaps we could do this again. Maybe tonight after you take to dinner?" The woman asked as she stared up at Zaram with half-lidded eyes and her lips curled in a seductive smile.

The lingering scent of her perfume, the swell of her bosom, and the look of her half curled up form silhouetted in the sheets had Zaram quite eager for another experience like the one from last night, one he could actually remember this time around. "Yes, that sounds lovely but, umm..." Zaram faltered as he had hit a wall, he didn't know what to say nor did he have a lie ready to tell the woman and even if he did it wasn't going to be a very good one. No, he was in trouble and the growing silence after his last half reply was starting to make the woman a bit angry. He needed to say something but deciding what to say was just as important as breaking the awkward silence. "Yeah, I… umm Yes we really should have dinner tonight. After all, it's umm…"

"What no sweet words like last night, Zarrie? Did you forget all of the things you told me last night? How my eyes shimmered like stars, that my beauty was far too great for the likes of you. Oh and the way you said my name it sent shivers down my spine. I would have moved mountains to hear you call my name like that again." The woman said with a cute giggle as she blushed bright red at the events of last night.

"Well I would give you more sweet words but after last night how could I ever tell anything would not sound false or as if I was just trying to get you to come to bed with me." Zaram lied as he tried to slip out of the bed to get his clothes.

The woman's starry-eyed look shifted to a forlorn glare as she pulled Zaram into a tighter embrace. "You can't remember my name, can you Zarrie?" she stated angrily, as she pointed up at him and her eyes flickered with anger.

Zaram sighed slightly, he hated doing this to the young woman who was clearly very enthusiastic about their night together to the point that she had given him a pet name. "I must apologize, miss. I drank very heavily and don't remember the slightest thing about last night, let alone any pleasures I might have partaken in."

"My name is Alia Swordchild, your beloved Alia of the Stars," The woman said with a dejected tone and a slight frown. Moments later she was nearly on the verge of tears as she released Zaram from her grip and rolled away from him taking the blanket with her. She sat up on the bed with her back, her long dark hair falling over her shoulder like silken threads, to Zaram as tears began to fall down her cheeks. "How… How could I have been so stupid as to think you would like me? So everything, everything we did last night was a lie? You don't think I'm beautiful?"

Zaram knew this look all too well, while last night had simply been a drunken stupor for him, a harsh consequence of his inability to deal with repeated failure; for this innocent half-elf it had been a night of pure passion and romance, something she had dreamed of but never thought possible and most likely it had been her first experience with a man at all. He had to make this right otherwise bitter and blackened guilt that would nag him to no end would his only reward for the next few days.

Zaram couldn't think of what else to do so he pulled Alia into his arms clutching her to his chest gently as he ran his fingers through her silken hair. He inhaled her lovely scent causing the woman to shiver slightly and blush red again. For a few moments, they stayed like this the heat of Zarams body warming Alia and reminding her of the night before. After a sigh, Zaram pulled Alia away from his chest and stared into her bright amber eyes before he kissed her briefly. "Oh my sweet, you are incredibly beautiful. Forgive my lapse of memory," he spoke poetically. "For living here my whole life, never to leave these walls leads me to the drink. But I assure you, my passions were true and my lust for you ever growing my sweet Alia ...wait did you say your surname was Swordchild?"

"Yes, is that a problem Zarrie?" Alia asked.

"You wouldn't happen to be the daughter of Thoruguard Swordchild?" Zaram asked cringing reflexively after saying the name.

"Yes, and how do you know my father?" Alia asked a little confused by Zaram's question.

"Well, it's just that I umm… I should go before your father finds me. If he does find me with you I may not get to see you tonight or ever again." Zaram explained as he reached for his robes.

"I don't see why my father would have a problem with us being together. He has been after me to marry as of late. Once you two meet I'm sure he will be fine with us marrying at some point." Alia told Zaram with a happy giggle.

"I doubt he would want you to have my surname at all even after what happened last night," Zaram said with a nervous laugh. "After all, I am Zaram Maldovar the son of Candlekeep's very own Gorion Maldovar."

"Wait your surname is Maldovar!"Alia said with a sudden chill in her tone. "Your full name is Zaram Maldovar? The Zaram that every merchant with a daughter is warned about?" Zaram just nodded yes and closed his eyes as he waited for the inevitable fit of scared screaming to begin.

Suddenly the woman let go of Zaram swiftly and she swore under her breath as she went in search of her own garments. All of them had been haphazardly thrown around the room. "Oh no! You've got to get out of here now; if Father finds you he'll kill you!"

Zaram got out of the bed and began to dress himself knowing all too well that Thoruguard Swordchild, a well-known merchant with a pompous attitude who came to Candlekeep quite often, would not be happy to learn that his daughter had slept with any random peasant let alone one of the novices of what was supposed to be a celibate society.

' _If Gorion finds me, he'll kill me_ ,' Zaram thought to himself as he stood in front of a mirror, a luxury found only in these expensive merchant rooms, and quietly dressed.

At six foot, five inches, Zaram Maldovar was certainly much taller than those around him; and, while certainly not imposing, there was something not quite normal about his appearance. Something a bit...strange: chaotic if you will. The first thing one would have been likely to notice upon first seeing Zaram were his eyes; glowing with mischievous youth and charm, Zaram's eyes pierced the distance between him and those around him with a dark shade of violet that had been caused by a magical mishap during his childhood. Scanning the rest of his facial features would reveal very little: his face was rather circular with a small boxed chin that refused to protrude either outward or downward, eyelashes of a boringly standard length, thick hazel eyebrows that were somewhat lopsided and an uneventful nose that did little but serve its purpose. The sides of his head conformed to fit the patterns of the front and back with half-oval like shaping and slightly folded over ears (which displayed a scar from attempting and failing to add an earring to his ensemble, a gesture his foster father Gorion did not appreciate) connected firmly to the aforementioned sides of the head. His hair, a messy tangle of long and unkempt forest green (from another magical incident) flowed to just below his shoulder but would shift at the slightest movement by the young novice; today was particularly windy and even with the window open only slightly, Zaram was forced to constantly shove aside stray tufts of hair that betrayed his eyesight. While clearly unprofessional, Zaram Maldovar did, in fact, care about his appearance at least somewhat and kept his standard brown novice robes clean of all but the occasional specks of dirt or food crumbs.

Zaram quickly slipped on his robes and sandals before checking on Alia who at the time was struggling to get her bodice tied shut. Not wanting to stay any longer than had to, Zaram started to leave the room without a second thought. It was best not to have a repeat of the last time he had been caught sleeping with the daughter of some well-respected merchant who had decided to grace Candlekeep with his presence. Hearing a knock at the door he swore under his breath and chose to leap out the third-floor window of the Inn hoping not to injure himself too badly on the way down.

"Always a pleasure, milady," Zaram said before he leaped out the now opened window. "If the gods permit, I should be lucky to be graced by your presence again one day, maybe even this evening. Until then, I will remember you fondly," he called back up to the door. This was, of course, a lie, Zaram was about as likely to remember this incident as he was to ever remember the events of the previous night, but if it spared the feelings of Alia, poor confined Alia, then it was enough to no longer weigh on his conscience.

Having narrowly avoided crushing another human being upon his landing in a well place hay pile, Zaram really didn't need anything else to go wrong. As he winced in pain then extracted himself from the hay in a crawl he soon heard footsteps and looked up from his prone position to see a set of legs clad in strange pants dyed a homemade pink. His eyes were greeted with the familiar face of the only person he knew of who could sneak up on someone in those ridiculously bright colors.

' _Great_ ' Zaram once again thought to himself, ' _Of course something else was going to go wrong_.'

"Heya!" the familiar voice said with more cheerful demeanor than Zaram was ready to deal with as a hand was held out to help Zaram to his feet. Zaram took the hand and with help was pulled to his feet then took a moment to dust off his robes and regain his bearings. He checked once more to confirm whom he was speaking to, and it was in fact Imoen. She was one of the last people he really wanted to see right now, with Gorion and Thoruguard Swordchild tied for first place in that respect.

Standing at just barely five foot tall, Imoen was much shorter than Zaram but that didn't seem to bother her however as she acted as if she were ten foot tall all of the time. She was a girl of only 15 springs with an impish childlike face that was slowly gaining its womanly appeal. Her large blue-grey eyes were expressive and shone with a mischief and delight that only a person of her level of maturity could enjoy. As Zaram looked down on the young girl he could see that she had made an attempt to dye her hair pink but ended up covering only specks, a few short streaks at the back, and a small section of the bangs of her naturally brown hair, she had clearly spent a considerable amount of time brushing because it stayed in one place just above her shoulder line and avoided her forehead entirely.

Zaram saw that she had somehow dyed every article of her clothing several different shades of pink to the point that it was taxing on the eyes to be around her. How and when she had time to do such a thing was a mystery to Zaram but he did know that looking directly at Imoen was making his headache worse. As Zaram averted his eyes for a moment to rub his left temple a bit he noticed Imoen slowly pulling out a considerably sized loaf of some sort of sweet bread from her pouch, examining it for a moment before putting it back. She seemed way too excited about the matter of the bread and if Zaram had to guess it was most likely stolen. Imoen seemed to have a bad habit of taking things that didn't belong to her for the sheer pleasure and challenge of doing so. Remembering the considerable age difference between the two, Zaram sometimes wondered if all teenage girls were so excitable and emotionally exhausting like this.

After getting the pain between his eyes to become a dull thump Zaram was going to ask Imoen about the bread she had when she took hold of his sleeve and pulled him away from the inn. Without being given time to protest or to ask what was so urgent Zaram was dragged off to a picnic table to sample the expensive pastry.

"What do you want, Imoen?" Zaram asked with some minor tone of annoyance as he needed to get farther away from the Inn sometime soon. If the lack of death threats being screamed at him was any indication of how much time he had to run for it, Zaram figured he had about 20 or so minutes before he was in a world of trouble. First thing was first, he had to deal with his annoyingly cheerful adopted kid sister then run for it.

When Zaram turned from his thoughts he was greeted with the sight of Imoen already shoving fistfuls of bread into her mouth in a childish manner. She paused for a moment to answer his question but with her mouth still full it was rather difficult to understand. "Welm ooo, dibbt zeem bilroh".

Zaram sat there with a look of disgust and annoyance on his face as he watched Imoen talk with her mouth full of half-chewed bread, spilling crumbs down the front of her clothing. Imoen stared for a moment confused as to why Zaram hadn't said anything after she had answered him. Seconds later she realized that Zaram was now glaring and his reason for doing so. She held up a finger and swallowed her food with some difficulty before repeating her earlier reply. "Well you didn't seem busy; besides, can't a couple friends just share a loaf of bread?"

"Imoen, you ate the entire loaf." Zaram pointed out as he gestured toward the table and the front of her shirt which were both covered in leftover crumbs. "And I could have had something to do."

Imoen smirked. "Yeah, like what? Spoiling another merchant's daughter? Stealing artifacts from traveling scholars for your failed attempts at advanced magic?" Zaram could only frown and blush at the accusations. "Come on, Zaram! You're so predictable, give it a rest."

Zaram shook his head and groaned in discomfort as he thought it best not to argue with Imoen. The two had been as close as siblings since Imoen showed up one day at Candlekeep when Zaram was ten, but as of the last few years, Zaram's attention had been less on a childish playmate and more on getting out of Candlekeep to see the world. If there was one thing Zaram knew about the girlish terror in front of him it was that Imoen could keep an argument going for months if she wanted to. Zaram groaned again as memories of the times he had angered Imoen played through his mind. If he didn't want her following him around being extra annoying or messing with his magical training it was best not to anger her. Imoen had a bad habit of always getting what she wanted due to her immaturity and intelligence. It sounded like a weird combination but she had become a master manipulator with the use of her cute childlike appearance and manner, she had also mastered the art of fake crying when caught which usually got her out of trouble. Most of the adults in Candlekeep just seemed to consider most of her misdeeds as youthful angst and a young girl rebelling against her place in the world. All of it was just practice to Imoen as she seemed to want more out of life than to be married off sometime soon. This coupled with the fact that Imoen's foster father, Winthrop, a jolly, fat innkeeper, wasn't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed when it came to the antics of his daughter made the perfect storm for Imoen's antics.

"That's what I thought," Imoen said as her expression changing from satisfaction to guilt when she realized that there was no bread left over. The guilt didn't last long as her expression quickly shifted back to excitement. "Anyway, aren't you going to ask me what else I've got?"

Still attempting to nurse his hangover Zaram shrugged. "Should I? I mean it's only just after sunrise you couldn't have really gotten…"

"You underestimate me, big brother!" Imoen told him as she pulled various objects out of her pockets. A few gold pieces, a small obsidian stone, a spinning top and to Zaram's surprise and relief, an antidote potion.

"How did you get one of those?" Zaram asked her in disbelief as he eyed the vial sitting on the table. "I mean merchants don't just keep these lying around you know. Why would one of them bring something like that to Candlekeep?"

Imoen's eye sparkled mischievously as she tossed the potion towards Zaram. "Who says I got it from a merchant?"

Eager to solve his problem in a quick and orderly fashion, Zaram gulped down the potion without a second thought. Although it took a minute or so to take effect, he knew that he would recover shortly, when his headache finally subsided he decided that he needed to sate his curiosity.

"If not from one of the merchants..." he asked an eyebrow raised, "...then who?"

Imoen gave Zaram a mocking shrug before jumping over the table to sit next to him. "Hull. Turns out he was stockpiling them in the barracks."

"Probably to get over his own hangovers," Zaram added, his brow furrowing in disgust at the mere mention of the watcher's name. "Dreppin could have used one of those potions last week when he nearly lost Nessa. That drunk bastard must have thought his own ass was worth more than a prize cow's life."

Zaram seethed with anger at the very thought of Hull; a drunken, gruff excuse for a man, Hull was one of the many Watchers of Candlekeep, a group of soldiers sworn to protect the grounds of Candlekeep with their lives. While most of the denizens of Candlekeep treated Zaram fondly, Hull was one of a fairly significant number that despised him, and the feeling was most certainly mutual. In one particular instance, Hull had recruited an 8-year-old Zaram to retrieve his sword from the barracks after he had overslept that night. Zaram remembered dragging the sword from the barracks to the gate, a distance that felt impossible to the small child only to be berated by Hull upon reaching his destination.

" _I found your sword, Mr. Hull. It was in the chest like you said."_

" _Took your sweet time, didn't you?" Hull had said, "I suppose it's my own fault for trusting a little shit like you to get my sword for me."_

" _I'm sorry I took so long, Mr. Hull" the crying Zaram had told him. "I'm not big and strong like you are, but maybe when I grow up...:"_

" _When you grow up? Pff, that's a laugh if I ever heard one. A kid like you is lucky to be in a place like this; you wouldn't have made it past five if you were raised anywhere else. IF you grow up you're just going to get yourself killed once you step out those gates,_ _ **so do us all a favor and speed up the process, you little brat!**_ "

" _Why are you being so mean, Mr. Hull? It's not fair, I didn't do anything to you. Mr. Gorion says…"_

" _Oh don't get me started on that old horse's ass, Gorion's a fool for trying to raise you and you can tell him I said so too. As far as I'm concerned he should've taken Ulruant's advice and left you to the crows where you belong, your kind only bring trouble."_

" _My...kind?"_

" _That's enough, Hull" Gorion seemed to come out of nowhere, looking not quite as old as he did now, but his hair had already turned almost entirely gray, he led the small Zaram away from the gates and shared a mutual glare with Hull. "Come along now, Zaram. It's time for your lessons."_

Zaram had asked Gorion what Hull meant that day but received only cryptic answers in response. Eventually, he just grew to assume that like Ulraunt and many others, Hull just simply had his own reasonings for hating him and decided to let it go. soon, however, Zaram's reminiscing was cut short by the sound of very angry footsteps approaching the table, it was time to make an exit.

"Wait," Imoen asked, putting out an arm to stop Zaram. "Aren't you going to thank me before you storm off? I just saved your ass."

"Yeah, well my ass isn't out of the woods yet," Zaram told her, looking over his shoulder at the approaching figure. It was Thoruguard Swordchild, right on cue and much quicker than Zaram had expected, if he didn't get out of here soon he dreaded what might happen. "I've got to get out of here quickly and away from...well from that," Zaram said as he pointed at the angry merchant walking toward them.

" **MALDOVAR!** " The very angry merchant shouted loud enough for half of Faerun to hear. "I'll have your head mounted on my wall for what you've done. When I get my hands on you..."

"Do you need a distraction?" Imoen asked smugly. "Just say the word and I'll do it."

"Yeah, sure," Zaram replied hesitantly. "And what do you want in return?"

"Oh nothing much," Imoen told him with an almost evil smile. "You just have to do my chores for a week."

"A week?" Zaram grunted in half-disbelief. "With everything else I have to do around here, I'll never get any sleep if I have to add your chores on top of it."

"You deflowered my daughter you upstart reject!" Swordchild shouted over the crowd of onlookers that had now gathered. "I'll have you castrated for this if it's the last thing I do!" several people in the gathered crowd were waylaying Swordchild trying to figure out what had him so angry. Several of the men in the crowd had a hold of the angry merchant as he cursed and fumed in their grip. This had bought Zaram a few minutes but not enough time to get away without being stopped by some of the onlookers to inquire what was amiss.

"You're not exactly in a position to haggle, big brother," Imoen smirked as she knew her big brother only had two choices and the former was far worse than the latter. "It's either that or you face Mr. Father of the Year over there yourself. So what's it's going to be, Zaram? Do you need a distraction or not?"

Zaram sighed as he nodded weakly in agreement, at some point he was going to greatly regret this but at this point, he had no other options. "Yes please."

"Ok, so it's a deal," Imoen agreed. "Now you just run off and leave the rest to me. I should be able to buy you enough time to get to the main library, but you're going to have to move fast."

Not taking the time to ask what Imoen's plan was going to entail Zaram took off around the far side of the inn and headed toward the main library. He ducked past several people as they tried to question him on what was going on with the crowd gathered around the back side of the inn. Zaram just shook his head and kept on running for all he was worth.

Imoen stood up from the table before picking up a bit of dirt and rubbbing it on her cheeks and giving them a few slaps to redden them up. Once her look was in order she got ready to turn on the tears since she would need to look as sad and pathetic as possible. This was going to be her greatest performance ever and by the end of it, she would have a few more gold coins to add to her stash too.

After getting a few tears to flow to complete her look Imoen ran into the crowd and made her way to Thoruguard crying and blubbering hard. "Oh please sir don't hurt my brother, he didn't have a choice in the matter. It's… it's all my fault, I messed everything up."

"What!? How do you… wait are you that degenerate's little sister?" Thoruguard asked as he pulled his arm free of one of the men trying to hold him back before smoothing out his clothing. "What the hell are you on about girl?"

Thoruguard was a tall man of nearly six and a half feet with an almost regal look to him but like most merchants with his level of wealth, he was a bit on the large side. He had coal black hair that was cut to a medium length and well groomed, his dark brown eyes were sharp with intelligence and vision for the business. He had a square-shaped face with a pointed nose and a thick bushy mustache. While Thoruguard had done some manual labor in his youth he had let his status as a merchant and heavy meals of rich foods grow his waistline several inches. This showed in the fact that his shirt and doublet were sized for a man a good foot taller than him. Though he was a bit portly Thorugaurd was a man of strength and vigor, this showed in his manner of dress as he only wore the latest in fashion but it was still functional for a man that had to got his hands dirty on occasion. Today was no exception to this fact, he was dressed in a fine deep purple silk shirt with a matching leather doublet trimmed in silver and white, he had on black trousers trimmed in the same silver and white, on his hands were several finely crafted silver rings studded with a rainbow of precious stones and gems. Even his shoes had polished silver buckles that matched the buckle of his belt.

"You see I was out last night way past my bedtime and I got caught up in a dice game with some men visiting Candlekeep. They were nice at first but it was all an act. They let me win a few times and I was so happy that I could finally buy my brother a gift for his birthday this year. Well after I had won a few times I bet it all like one of the men said I should. I lost it all and forty gold more than I had. They wanted the money and they said they would make me a slave to get it" Imoen told the merchant as she cried and sniffed.

The whole of the crowd seemed to be buying into Imoen's story as there had been a set of shady travelers in the inn last night that had been passing through the area. Several members of the crowd had seen them talking with Zaram at one point before he was seen wandering off with Swordchild's daughter an hour or so later. A few members had confirmed that Imoen had been seen having words with the shady travelers earlier in the night before Zaram had shown up to drink away his troubles.

"So you were conned by some shady men but what does that have to do with Maldovar defiling my daughter? Explain yourself, girl, before I get your father and we get to the truth of the matter." Thoruguard said with a grunt of anger, his patience was wearing thin and he really wanted to get his hands on Zaram to wring his neck.

"Yes, sir. You see after they said they would make a slave of me if they didn't get their gold I told them about my brother. I told them he could get them the gold. I got Zaram he told everything to him. They told him they would forgive my debt if he did them a favor. They had a grudge against you sir so it would be in Zaram's best interest if he deflowered your daughter or they would take me instead of the gold." Imoen told Swordchild before she really started crying and making a scene.

Swordchild wasn't her target for this display of tears and sobbing, no her true target was the crowd gathered around them. If she could get the people of Candlekeep to believe her story Swordchild would have no choice but to let Zaram off the hook. If that happened Zaram would owe her even more than just a week of chores.

Thorugaurd was about to call Imoen's elaborate bluff when several of the onlookers began to confirm parts of the story. Several of the men standing there told Swordchild that they had overheard part of an argument Zaram had with the travelers and it had been about some gold owed to them. Several confirmed that the travelers in question had spoken of a grudge they had against Swordchild for cheating them out of some gold on some items sold to them. Soon a grumbling started in the crowd about Swordchild's shady business dealings causing trouble and him wanting to blame Zaram for doing what he had too to save Imoen.

"Wait a damn minute, you're telling me that Maldovar slept with my daughter to save you from being made into a slave?"

"Yes, sir he did. He didn't want to take advantage of your daughter but they didn't give him much choice. If I hadn't snuck out and played the stupid dice game none of this would have happened. I'm sorry it's all my fault I'm the one you should punish not him."

Thoruguard was in a bind as he didn't believe most of the story but several people had confirmed a lot of it and with how sad and broken up the girl was the whole thing made a lot of sense but why had Maldovar run off instead of just telling him the truth?

"Why didn't your brother just come to tell me the truth this morning?" Thoruguard asked as he stared down at Imoen.

Before she could answer someone in the crowd answered for her. "With the reputation, Zaram has here in Candlekeep for causing trouble would you believe him if he told this story in person?" One of the other merchants asked as he placed a hand on Thoruguard's shoulder. "Really now I have a hard time believing it and I was there last night for most of it. I know that Zaram can be a less than desirable person but your daughter doesn't seem too broken up about it. I overheard her trying to defend the boy this morning when you were questioning her, Thoruguard, I think you should let this one go for now or at least until you need to talk about marriage terms with the boy's father."

Thorugaurd just sighed as he saw that Lormais was right and what was done was done, there was no going back and his daughter did think highly of Zaram. A marriage wasn't totally out of the question especially if his daughter had become taken with Zaram child and being made family to Gorion by marriage would give him more clout in Candlekeep. Yes, he could turn this around to work for him but only if he could oversee all of the details and make it worth Zaram's while to become his son-in-law.

"Please stop crying, young lady. I see your point and I'm no longer angry. What your brother did was noble even if it would get him punished. I can see merit in a boy that is selfless even in the face of his own demise. He is worthy of my daughter and worthy of becoming my son-in-law. All I need to do is talk to him and his father to arrange the details of the marriage." Thoruguard said with chest puffed up as be put on his own grand performance. "Now I just need to find the boy. By any chance young lady would you know where he is right now? I need to speak with him in private on this matter and if you could deliver that message to him I am willing to compensate you for your time."

While Imoen was wiping her face and calming herself down she smiled darkly as her plan had worked she was now in a position to take her mark for all he was worth and in the long game she could get more out of Zaram when she had to save him from this marriage. "Sure I know where he is right now but it will be hard to get to him as he is with his father for his lessons. Gorion will be very upset if I have to bother them."

"Oh do not fear I said I will compensate you for your troubles, so would forty gold be enough for you to bother Zaram and his father?" Thoruguard asked as she counted out the gold then hand the coin pouch to Imoen.

"Oh, more than enough sir. I will make sure they both know that you need to speak with them as soon as possible. I will go right now." Imoen said with a cheery upbeat chirp.

"Ok good then, child, Tell them I will need to speak with them tomorrow afternoon after I have seen to a few details and I have everything ready to speak with them about the marriage terms. Run along now, child and deliver my message and do stay out of trouble as your brother will be very busy soon becoming a merchant with the Swordchild name."

As Imoen left she could only smile, she was playing the long game now and if this worked Zaram was going to owe her far more than a week's worth of chores.

 **(Main Library)**

Bolting past the crowd and into the inner grounds, Zaram quickly picked up speed as he bobbed and weaved past several concerned monks as well as a group of small children who were having their lessons outside today. Soon the familiar sight of the library in all of it's majestic and life-saving glory came into view. Standing at a massive six hundred feet tall, the ancient stone structure had been built well over 1000 years ago by the first monks to found Candlekeep long ago. The towering castle stood out among the other structures in the area as if it were a god amongst men, each granite stone had been finely crafted to have few blemishes and seemed to glow with an energy as if magic itself was preventing the keep from aging. Each of the castle's six stories were adorned with jewel-encrusted windows surrounded by strange symbols written in some dead language that Zaram didn't recognize from any of his lessons though he was certain must have been important at some point in time, the final and largest of these windows adorning the sixth floor office of Ulraunt, guarded night and day by the constant vigilance of the Watchers both from the inside and from the platinum lined balcony that loomed over the inner grounds with an intensity that one could only describe as a bit unsettling. Surrounding the perimeter of the keep, four perfectly symmetrical flower beds were blooming with the fresh roses of summer each adjacent to a small gazebo in which green-clad monks spent nearly every hour of the day chanting hymns, prophecies, and intricate poems as if they were bard songs.

It was a magnificent sight that even those who had called Candlekeep their home all of their lives couldn't help but admire, but Zaram didn't have time to indulge in the beauty of such things, trying his best to make it inside in as little time as possible he nearly bowled over a fellow novice in his efforts to escape his pursuer and avoid any further conflict; by the time Zaram had reached the library and closed the massive oaken door behind him, he was nearly out of breath, taking a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow he then proceeded to walk up the stairwell as calmly as possible, a task which proved more difficult than he expected due to being out of breath and still worried about his current Swordchild problem. He was still trying to compose himself when he was confronted by the crimson-robed figure of his instructor already waiting at the top of the stairs.

A short and frail man of advanced years, Tethtoril had an exceptionally thin build as if his vibrant health had left him long ago but he was far from a man quickly approaching death. He had a long thin face with deep lines that told of many years of reading and keeping books. His eyes were wide but stern with a hazy faded blue color that one could almost mistake as the aged sage going blind, however, Tethtoril's vision was clear and impressive for a man of his years, even sharper than some men of half his age. His hair was short and thick, mostly white with a sharp graying line at the sides. He walked with a slumped posture aided by the use of a walking stick that had a small platform that almost always held one or two tomes. From his look and stature anyone who did not know Tethtoril all that well would think him on death's door but those who lived within the walls of the monastery knew that Tethtoril had looked like this for as long as anyone could remember. He was far older than Gorion, older perhaps than even Ulraunt himself. Though why he had chosen for himself the humble role of First Reader over Ulraunt's position as the Keeper of Tomes was a mystery to Zaram and many others. Humble, wise, imposing, kind, and mysterious were all words that summed up Tethtoril in the eyes of all that met him.

Today, Tethtoril seemed cross, a sight that Zaram had grown familiar with over the past several weeks and a sign that he was once again late for his studies. The man's gentle blue eyes were clouded over in disappointment as he addressed Zaram calmly with a firm but understanding tone.

"It is the third time this week that you have been late for your studies, Zaram. I am beginning to worry about your well-being. A healthy schedule helps promote focus but you must adhere to its limits if you are to reap its benefits."

"Sorry, Tethtoril," Zaram frowned before clearing his throat. "I overslept and…"

Tethtoril shook his head calmly and guided Zaram towards the classroom in an orderly fashion. "You must try to remain punctual, child. Now, shall we continue your lessons?"

Nodding quietly, Zaram followed Tethtoril down the second-floor hall and into the small classroom Gorion had kept permanently reserved for his magic lessons. Unlike the rest of the exceedingly grandiose library, each of the castle's classrooms were identically plain. With the exception of a small granite bust of Ulraunt. A few worn-out chairs, a large pinewood table, a few shelves filled with beginner level magic guides, and an instructor's podium were the only articles of furniture to speak of. Today, Tethtoril had brought with him a small wooden box that roughly resembled a target and a small apple from the merchant stands just outside Winthrop's tavern.

"Today we're going to once again focus on the application of Magic Missile," Tethtoril informed Zaram.

Zaram nodded excitedly, eager to move his studies forward after the utter disaster of last night's failed experiments which had been indirectly responsible for getting him into the predicament he had found himself in that morning. A smile quickly formed on his tired face as he felt his enthusiasm return after narrowly escaping Sworchild's grasp and he began to raise his hand in an attempt to cast the spell. "I'm ready."

" _Basic_ Magic Missiles. While I know that you may think you have a grasp of this spell already there is far more to it them just pointing and shooting arcane energy at a target." Tethtoril specified as he gently lowered Zaram's hand and raised his own. "I understand your enthusiasm, child. But you mustn't let your impatience get the best of you, a disciplined mage masters the basics lest his grasp overpowers unseen slack and that very power consumes him. Now calm yourself and focus your energy on the task at hand. Now, what are the three things you need to perform this spell correctly?"

Zaram paused a moment as he thought back to the what he had read in the spell book about Magic Missile. "I need the right verbal components, so the right incantation."

"Good that is the first thing. What is the next part?" Tethtoril asked as he watched his pupil with a calm gaze.

"The second thing is the right somatic components. If I use the wrong gestures I could end up casting the wrong spell or hitting the wrong target." Zaram answered with growing excitement as he was one step closer to getting to cast.

"Good. You are almost ready to try casting this spell. Now, what is the most important component for the casting of this spell?"

"A target. Magic Missile creates a missile of force that strikes unerringly, even if the target is in melee combat, so long as it has less than total cover or total concealment. Specific parts of a target can't be singled out. Objects are not damaged by the spell." Zaram rattled off the text from the book word for word.

"Alright, it seems that all of those hours of study have not been wasted after all. Now Zaram I want you to try to cast the spell but I want you to take your time and focus on all of the components before you unleash your magical power. Remember even if you hit the apple you won't do any damage to it."

Zaram nodded as he breathed quietly and tried to focus on the apple as a surge of energy welled up from inside his body as he did so. Soon he began to recite the words as he made the proper gestures in a slow and deliberate manner. He finally pointed his finger at the apple and let loose a bolt of shimmering force, but it missed the apple entirely and hit the wall leaving it unscathed. "No, child. You are focusing too much on power and not enough on precision, you must learn to…" Tethtoril started but was interrupted by Zaram throwing the apple across the room angrily.

"No matter how hard I try I can't seem to get this right!" Zaram shouted. "How am I supposed to ever be like Gorion if I can't learn one simple spell."

Tethtoril stood calmly as Zaram let out his frustrations over his repeated failures, after several minutes he finally cut the novice off with a warm smile. "My child, you have to remember that it took Gorion decades to acquire the knowledge that he possesses and longer still for Ulraunt or myself. Even Elminster himself did not become an archmage in a single day. Your lessons have come along quite well and though you may lack faith in your abilities I certainly do not. You will master this spell just as your father did all those years ago when he stood in this very room, and one day I truly believe that you will walk in his footsteps."

After huffing and pouting for a bit Zaram let out a sigh and took Tethtoril's words to heart. With a new sense of determination, Zaram retrieved the slightly bruised apple from the corner he had tossed into. Once the apple was back atop the box Zaram began the spell again but before he could do so he was interrupted by the clatter of footsteps as another novice entered the room and handed a small letter to Tethtoril.

"Hmm, yes I see," Tethtoril said gravely as he read the letter. "It would seem the rest of this lesson shall have to be postponed until tomorrow, Zaram. Ulraunt wishes to speak with me about a matter most important. Now I want you to study up on the list of novice spells as we will be going over them and if you are more centered we will be casting them."

As Tethtoril quietly left the room, Zaram was left wondering what could be of such vital importance to Ulraunt that he would summon Tethtoril so abruptly. In all the time he had spent under the elder mage's tutelage he could only remember Ulraunt sending a direct summons one other time, and that had been nearly twelve years ago to call a meeting of the council to discuss the rising conflicts at Dragonspear Castle. Had war erupted once again? Surely there would have been rumors about such a thing but Zaram had heard nothing recently about the outside world other than some whispers of some sort of iron shortage plaguing Amn as of late.

Whatever the problem may have been, Zaram decided that it was none of his concern and opted instead to return to his room with one of the novice level spell books to do as Tethtoril had commanded. Also, he was going try to get some well-deserved rest before he was inevitably bombarded with his and a week of Imoen''s responsibilities. Zaram had barely taken a single step outside of the classroom before he was stopped by the bulky frame of Reevor, the dwarven quartermaster of Candlekeep. Exceptionally tall for a dwarf, Reevor stood around five feet tall, with thick black hair like a lion's mane connecting to a black braided beard covering most of his face, a suit of leather armor and a sizable copper-plated ax at his side. Looking grumpy as usual he turned to Zaram and without so much as a greeting began to gesture for Zaram to follow him.

"Ah, there ye are ye lazy shit. I've been lookin' up and down 'de whole keep lookin' fer' ye." Reevor grunted, blocking the doorway. Zaram was fairly certain he couldn't get around if he wanted to and decided that antagonizing the angry dwarf would only make matters worse. He concluded that the best course of action was to see what he wanted, a choice he would most likely regret later.

"Hello, Reevor," Zaram greeted him plainly. "I apologize for the fact that you couldn't find me easier, I was..."

"Yeah, yeah doin' yer lessons, I know," Reevor said with a dismissive wave. "Well, I don't give a hairy gnoll's arse what them old robe wearin' book sniffers are busyin' ye with. I've got a job for ye!"

Zaram could only raise an eyebrow, though he had a feeling he knew where this was going and he wasn't going to like it. "A job?"

"Aye," Reevor responded. "I will be needin' the rats cleaned out of yon cellar down near the temple. Lil' Imoen bless 'er heart, I'd normally ask her but she said she 'ad quite a scare last night at the tavern. Said she needed some rest after all that, but she told me ye'd be willin' to 'elp control 'de pest population as it were. It's a nasty business but someone 'as to do it."

As he listened to Reevor's request, Zaram rolled his eyes, the week of torture had begun much faster than he would have anticipated and with such a strange and disgusting request Zaram could only cringe at the idea of what was in store for him in the upcoming days. Nevertheless, he knew he had to accept the vomit-inducing job because he was certain the alternative would have been much worse.

"Can I expect to get paid for this job?" Zaram asked hopefully, an unlikely outcome especially when it came to Reevor, but it never hurt to try.

"Paid?" Reevor spat as if the mere mention of the word both physically and mentally disgusted him. "I'll pay 'ye by not shovin' me boot so far up yer arse you'll be able to taste me kneecaps."

"Alright, alright. I get the message," Zaram said defeated. "I'll go kill your rats."

With that Reevor smiled and patted Zaram on the back. "That's me boy, now go down there and show those rats not 'te mess with Reevor. Kill 'im like de rats they are!"

Zaram left the library and headed towards the tool shed near the cellar in a hurry, hoping to get this job done as quickly as possible. He collected a heavy broom, a dustpan, a large bag for the rat bodies to be thrown out later, and a small skinning knife to kill the rats with before heading to the cellar. Once there he opened the heavy cellar door than propped it open with a small dry branch he found nearby. When he turned back to the opening of the cellar he was immediately filled with a sense of dread. Originally used as a wine cellar before the current tavern was built, the old cellars had been mostly abandoned for several decades, apparent from the massive amounts of cobwebs and loose rock, but recently Reevor had convinced the High Council to repurpose the area to hold excess foodstuffs in the event that the Crusade in the north ever made its way to the Sword Coast. Although few foresaw the possibility it seemed better to prepare for the impossible then to fall victim to it. Nevertheless, little had been done yet to help clean the cellars until today and even less had been done to fix the lighting situation, of which the cellar had virtually none. When Zaram finished descending down the stairs, a feat marked by the fact that he could no longer feel the staircase continuing beneath his feet and hadn't fallen on his face in the darkened entryway he made a sour face at the smell of musty humid air, mold, and the stench of damp rotting wood. After recovering from the horrid smell he saw that the only light in the cellar to speak of was a small oil lantern hanging from the ceiling on the farthest edge of the room opposite him. This left more than half of the room covered in darkness. The chattering of rats could be heard through the darkness but just how many rats there could be was impossible to guess. Zaram knew that his only hope of completing the task was to somehow cross the room and collect the lantern without damaging anything else, a task which he was pretty sure would require an insane amount of dumb luck. He sat down the collected items for his task and placed the knife in his belt before crossing the room to get the lantern. After a few steps into the room Zaram jumped as he heard a snapping sound then the heavy door slam shut leaving a mostly darkened room.

After taking a few deep breaths Zaram calmed his nerves before he turned back to the task at hand. The branch holding the door open had broken under the door's immense weight so he would just have to push it open from the inside with aid of the broom, plus with the door closed, it would be harder for the rats to get away. After confirming his exit plan Zaram slowly made his way across the room feeling around for boxes or rats that may have been in his way. Several times he bumped into a stray crate here and there or smashed his toe into an empty barrel. After a few faltering steps Zaram got closer to the lantern on the other side of the room and it became increasingly apparent that something was amiss. From deep within the shadows the rats began to writhe and hiss in agony and Zaram became aware that he was not alone in this room, someone or something was also in the room and it didn't seem like it was there hunting the rats. If Zaram had heard Reevor's ranting correctly then nobody else should have been sent into the room. Why would some else be down here if Reevor had sent him in Imoen's place to kill the rats? No, he had to be down here alone, right?

Suddenly Zaram stopped his journey across the room when he felt a rat scurry across his foot. It was at this point while he was checking his robe and leg for bites that Zaram noticed two flicking shadows that looked vaguely humanoid off to the right of the lantern in the more dim light. Zaram stood up and turned toward the shadows and squinted as he went over what he knew about his situation versus what was happening. He had been told to kill the rats in the old cellar by Reevor in Imoen's place. He assumed that there was no one down there unless Imoen was pranking him again. He just came across two humanoid shadows in the darkness and all he was armed with was a small knife to kill the rats, a broom, a dustpan, and a large bag to collect the rat bodies. The broom, dustpan, and bag were across the room next to the stairs so all he had to defend himself was the knife if, in fact, the shadows were people. But wait, why would anyone be down here trying to hurt him? Sure he was a bit unpleasant to people at times but nobody really wanted him dead, right? It was while Zaram was contemplating this that he noticed the two men standing before him grinning immensely at their discovery as if they were a predator advancing on helpless prey that strayed too far from the safety of the herd.

Both of the men were human, the two were dressed in rust-colored leather armor and brandishing short swords. One of the assailants, a rather short blonde haired man with a thin face, deep-set eyes, and a long hooked nose gave Zaram a passing glance before turning back to his friend and shrugging. The taller assailant had long black hair pulled into a ponytail tied with a bit of black twine, he had a wide smooth face with fine facial features and light colored eyes.

" _Just my luck,_ " Zaram mumbled under his breath to himself. " _I can't seem to catch a break._ "

"Well look what we here, Shank," The taller one smirked. "It's the Maldovar brat, he came down here all alone just like our informant said he would. Looks like we're getting paid after all."

"Well I'll be damned, and here I thought I wasn't goin' to get to stab someone today," Shank responded. "That makes things a lot easier. It's a good thing too Carbos since you were excited about the gold for this job, so we get paid and I get to murder something other than these cheap ass rats."

"It's not about the murdering so much as it's about the huge bag of gold waiting for us. So kill this little shit so I can take the proof that we need to show the boss the job is done and then we can get back to trying to get that little girly you were after last night." Carbos said with a dark smirk.

"Who the hell are you two and why are you down here? Who sent you and why do they want me dead?" Zaram asked he reached for the knife he had. As he reached for the knife a strange thought occurred to him. "You not here about that thing with Alia are you? Because if you are I can explain that, really I can, if you just give a moment. You see, it was like this…."

"Shut your word hole, fool. We are not here to listen to the rambling of a dead man. I would be less worried about what you did or didn't do with that **ASSHOLE** Swordchild's daughter. You are in the deep end of the shit pile right now my friend and not even a castle full of stable boys can dig you out now. To put it in more elegant terms you are dead and we are getting a bag of gold for a pound of your hide, boy." Carbos told Zaram as he waggled a finger in Zaram's face. "Just consider your night with that Alia girl as a last meal of sorts. I hope you had fun with her 'cause you won't be doing any of that ever again."

"Yeah 'cause we going to stab you a lot with these swords and bleed you like a pig 'cause we going ta kill ya," Shank said with a slurred quip as he tested his sword edge on his tongue. "Yep, it's a bit dull so it's going hurt a lot when I stick in ya. Get ready for it 'cause I'm going to enjoy bleeding you like a little spring pig off to winter market.

"Now, now, Shank we don't need to rush things. It's not like we don't have time to enjoy the company of our guest. I mean it's not like he going anywhere except to death's door. So tell me Mr. Maldovar, can I call you Mr. Maldovar?

"Uh... yeah you can but why?" Zaram asked confused as to why his assassins were now trying to have a conversation with him.

"Well two reasons really, one I tend to want to get to know my victims a bit, you know to truly understand them in their final moments, it somehow puts it all into perspective for me. Two it lets my victims get some things off their chest, leave a few parting words, or ask a request of me other than letting them live. I'm not a cruel man just an evil one so I will give the opportunity to leave a few parting words Mr. Maldovar. Maybe something sweet words to the Swordchild girl or a heroic last stand style speech. I don't get to hear many of those in this line of work. You would think I would but I really don't, most people just start blubbering on about dying with regrets or they just have words for a loved one." Carbos explained in a polite tone.

"So let me get this straight you want to have a conversation with me before you kill me?" Zaram asked still trying to get a firm grasp of what was going on.

"Of course we are, we can't exactly have a conversation with you _after_ we kill you, now can we. After all dead men are poor conversationalists, right?" Shank stated as if it were a well-known fact.

Carbos and Zaram both stared at the murder-happy man with surprised and dumbfounded expressions respectively before Carbos smiled at his companion. "I'm impressed that you know a word of that caliber let alone how to use it correctly in a sentence. Well done, Shank."

"Well, of course, I would pick up a few things just standing around listen to you go on with all those fancy things you say when we are on a job. I may not be a smart man but I can learn you know. Plus I like them big words." Shank retorted a bit proud of himself for showing up Carbos for once in a conversation.

"Umm...right," Zaram stated cautiously, uncertain of how to respond to the two individuals who seemed to have every intention of ending his life. "Explain to me again, why you're trying to kill me?"

"Well I can't give all of the details but someone is paying us a lot of gold to find you and send to the afterlife. I mean I really don't know the full story on it but the client seems very adamant about having you not be among the living as soon as possible. I don't know why but he seemed to have a great deal of hate for you but I digress. The short of it is someone wants you dead and we are the assassins sent to see you to your untimely death." Carbos explained as he held a hand to his face as if he were wiping away a tear in remorse for what he had to do. "Oh you poor unfortunate soul, if it wasn't for our place in your death today I dare say we could have been friends. Really I mean if you don't seem all that bad a guy a little on the small side but not a bad guy. I mean with some training you could be someone of great importance at some point. A legendary thief, or a world traveling fence, I dare say the world's greatest pirate. That could have been you but… It's so sad to see you cut down in your prime. I mean you are a diamond in the rough as it were…" Carbos went on as he gave a light laugh before clearing his throat. "So before I get to going on and on again like some old woman do you have any last words Mr. Maldovar? Please remember that these are the words your loved ones will remember you by so do make them good ones. Or at least the semblance of a rousing speech, that way if it's bad I can embellish it a bit to make you sound more heroic."

"Yeah, it's no fun if you just stand there and let us stab you." Shank pointed out. "I mean, I'm still going to stab you, but it wouldn't be right to start stabbing without you getting your last words out. So say your piece then get ready to die." Shank told Zaram as he got ready to violently stab him to death.

"Well Shank is right, Mr. Maldovar, you really do need to give us your last words as it is getting late. We only have maybe another half hour of oil left in the lantern and I do need to hide your body as well as take a proof that the job has been completed. So if you wouldn't mind telling us those last words and who we should deliver them to, that would get this situation moving along just nicely."

As Zaram stood there bewildered at the politeness of his assassins and unable to truly get a grasp of the gravity of his predicament two things did make sense to him, one if he was truly to die today he really didn't have any final words of note or importance to leave behind. He really didn't have anything worthwhile to say to anyone, This lack of words led to Zaram's second realization, that he hadn't done anything worthwhile in his life. All of his short life had been lived out in Candlekeep and the parts of that he had control over he had been spent dreaming of seeing the outside world for himself. As it stood all he had ever done was dream of a greater life like all of the characters and figures of history in the countless books he had read over the years. _Why had he waited so long try and see the world? Why had he just dreamed of adventuring instead of going out and doing just that? Could he really be someone of worth in the world? Could he really become a legend? Should he even try?_ Before Zaram could put words to the well of feelings swirling around inside of him the door to the cellar was smashed open with brutal force.

"What in the Nine Hells boy, I told ye to kill the rats not let them breed two would be kings!" Reevor yelled as he pointed a fat finger in the direction of Shank and Carbos from the stairway. Just behind the tall dwarf was Hull followed by Gorion, who looked as if he was ready to bring down storm and fury with his bare hands, in fact, he was holding on to what looked to be a small thunderstorm in his right hand.

"Well looks like I will have to clean up behind you boy. I keep telling you, Gorion that he isn't ready for the world especially if he can't handle two little pissants like those two." Hull retorted as he stepped to the side to let Gorion get a good look at the two lowlifes that were threatening his son.

"Well, it looks I get to stab several peop… oh, fuck that's the Grand Swordmage Gorion! … **By the Abyssal Lord's balls, that's Gorion!** " Shank shouted as he started to tremble in the presence of the swordmage that had once raided a temple to a god and lived to tell the tale.

"It can't be true, no fucking way this Maldovar kid is the son of that monster!" Carbos managed to respond back though he was also quaking in his boots. "There is no way we fucked up that bad! This a trick, it has to be. There is no way I'm getting murdered in this rat infested hell hole by Gorion! There's not enough gold in the world for that, Shank, let's run for it!"

Although briefly immobilized by the chaotic situation Zaram let out a sigh of relief as his father, Hull and Reevor had come to save him. The one question that was on Zaram's mind was how they knew he was in trouble. While their would be prey was pondering how his rescuers had found out he was in danger, Shank and Carbos were trying to figure out the best way to avoid a fight with Gorion. The dwarf and the guardsman would be a hard fight but manageable given the fact they had a hostage of sorts, but Gorion was on a whole other level. The had no chance of winning a fight with him even with his son as a hostage and there was still the matter of getting away from Candlekeep alive. Their only real option was to grab the boy and run for it then ditch him once they were outside of Candlekeep. This job wasn't paying enough gold to risk their lives against the likes of Gorion, no amount of gold was worth that.

"Alright, no sudden moves or the boy gets it. Let us pass by and we will forget any of this happened. I was only paid to kill the boy not tangle with likes of you. So the boy, my assistant, and I will be leaving here. Once we get outside of the city proper we will leave the boy in the woods near the road. You get him back and we will never bother you again. Fair is fair right?" Carbos asked as he started to reach for Zaram only to be thwarted by Hull smirking at him before turning to Zaram and yelling at the boy.

"Get your dumbass up here before your father roasts you along with these shitstains!" Hull shouted down at Zaram.

Zaram quickly regained his bearings then nodded in response before abandoning his tools as he made his way past his assassins and headed to the stairwell. He bolted to the surface as fast as his panicked legs could carry him, tripping and faltering along the way. As Zaram ran up the stairs stumbling along the way Carbos lamented wanting to get the boys last words and took note that the chances of survival were now getting closer to zero.

Once Zaram reached the top of the stairs he fell over panting from his exertion, he really needed to get more exercise after this was over, he looked up to see Reevor smirking down at him. "No need ta pray to me like I'm your God boy, just saving yer life as a good samaritan should." Reevor chuckled as he helped the shaken Zaram to his feet. Reevor then turned his head slightly to look at Hull and his smirk grew wider. "Well look at that, I didn't think ye cared that much for the boy, Hull. Mayhaps there's hope for ye yet. You want to tuck him in later and read him a bedtime story?"

Glaring from inside his helmet, Hull only turned his gaze towards the cellar as he spoke. "As much as I hate the lanky waste of space, I'd never hear the end of it if I just sat back and watched him die. Don't you go looking too far into it, I'm just doing my job, which is more than I can say for you. Also, I'm not a shite Nursemaid like yourself so if you want someone to tuck him and read him a bedtime story then go and do it yourself, you burly bastard."

Before Reevor could utter a retort, Gorion walked calmly down the stairs into the cellar with a storm in his fist and a cold stare in his eyes. For a moment he said nothing as he stared into the rat-infested storeroom at the two assailants, watching them intently as they stood frozen in fear. The two trembling men exchanging looks of terror between themselves as they were unable to gather the courage to speak any further. Finally, Gorion broke the silence with a single word, sending a chill down the spine of all who stood near him. "Talk!"

As Shank started to open his mouth to speak, Carbos slowly stepped in front of his partner effectively cutting him off mid-thought. "Well umm, you see, Mr. Gorion, sir. We don't actually know much more than you, sir. I uhh…"

"Yeah, we were just told to stab 'em, no questions. Right, Carbos? In't that what the boss said?" Shank interrupted. "Just kill the kid and we make off with a couple 'undred gold. Nice and simple like. 'Course that's not how it turned out but you win some you lose some, right Carbos? In't that what the boss always says? Right, Carbos?"

"You two aren't exceptionally bright are you?" Gorion asked, holding his left hand to his forehead trying to stave off a headache that was now forming.

"Not really, sir. Well, I'm not anyway. I just do most of the stabbing cause I'm really good at that. Boss says it the one I do the best." Shank confirmed. "Carbos is the smart one and he can even read a little, he can. He likes to use 'dem big words, don't ye' Carbos?"

"Ok listen, sir," Carbos stated after sighing loudly. "My friend's stupidity aside, we really don't know much about the situation that we've got ourselves into. Clearly, someone wants your son dead, but we were just doing our jobs. It was just a contract, if you let us go we'll just walk out and you'll never see us again. Honestly, we didn't even really want to kill him…"

"I did," Shank corrected him with a half-smile. "I like killing, it's fun!"

" **NOT NOW SHANK**!" Carbos screamed at his friend, the sheer magnitude of his fear that had been increasing by the second was now intensified tenfold by Shank's declaration, If something wasn't done soon to salvage their already weak position the two low rent thugs were going to die horribly. It was a few seconds after Gorion's calm demeanor turned rather dark that Carbos realized he now had no other alternative but to fight. "Oh to the Nine Hells with it…" Carbos yelled before he exchanged one last look of camaraderie with his friend and then charged at Gorion with his short sword, hoping against overwhelming odds that he might actually manage to wound the veteran Swordmage. " **DIE YOU WRINKLY OLD BASTARD!** "

After seeing the smarter of the two men made a desperate lunge for the older man Hull pulled his sword from its scabbard but before he could charge into the cellar to help Gorion there was a flash of bright light. Gorion had lifted the arm that held the rumble of a thunderstorm up into the air and opened his cupped hand releasing the raging elemental magic in several arcs of wild lightning bolts. The first flash of light and crackling blue and white colored energy zig-zagged across the cellar filling it with an intense glow before it found its target a few seconds later.

Carbos screamed out in fury first but soon that scream become one of pain as a bolt of white hot lightning stuck the back of his sword hand scorching it black. The second bolt of lightning followed the path of the first bolt but after it hit Carbos' hand it jumped to the bladed edge of his sword turning the blade red hot to the touch. Once again the would-be assassin screamed in pain as his hand was electrified then burned by the electrically charged blade he was holding. The third bolt followed a second to later hit Carbos' hand then jumping to his sword before finding it's target, the tip of Shank's shortsword. This time the room was filled with the screams of both men as they were electrocuted and burned by the swords they held.

When the fourth and fifth bolts began their arcs across the room both men had fallen to the ground twitching and convulsing from the amount of pure lightning elemental energy they had absorbed. When the next two bolts hit they sent the two thugs flailing about like rag dolls in a violent storm as they screamed incoherently. The whole time Gorion said nothing, he just watched as the two assassins suffered under the might of his masterful magics. It was the sixth and final bolt that seemed to put end to the suffering of Shank and Carbos. When the sixth bolt made its way across the room it was the strongest of all of the bolts, the light from it made the room as bright as the day before it made its way along the path the other bolts had followed. After the six bolt had passed though Shank's belt buckle it jumped to the final target: the lantern hanging from the cellar rafter. The bolt stuck it with so much force and raw power that the lantern exploded in a shower of hot metal and molten glass fragments. The oil in the lamp was burned off in a flash of fire and light from the power of the electrical charge.

For several minutes the whole of the cellar was filled with a tremendous amount of heat from the lightning and the oil from the lantern being flashed off. This blast of heat and fire left a fine layer of soot on most of the room and large scorch marks on many of the support beams and rafters of the cellar. The floor around Shank and Carbos had taken the brunt of the damage as it was blackened and cracked from the surge of the lightning. The room was filled with large amounts of smoke that was bellowing out past Reevor, Hull, and Zaram along with the few rats that had survived Gorion's magical attack. As the smoke cleared the bodies of Shank and Carbos lay scorched and motionless along with several dozens blackened and smoking rat carcasses.

Zaram could only stare in awed silence at Gorion's display of power as Hull and Reevor both tried to seemed unphased but bore looks of shock and dread at the power the swordmage had shown them. Hull swallowed hard knowing full well that this was only a fraction of Gorion's true power and if the man had truly chosen to go all out that half of Candlekeep would be a rubble-filled ruin. After several moments, Gorion approached Zaram and gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

"By the gods, man you cooked them like a pheasant over an open flame in the hearth. What am I to tell Ulraunt of this mess?" Reevor asked as Gorion walked out of the cellar.

"Tell him whatever you like but do not tell him I was the one that killed those two. He need not know of me using such powers in the walls of Candlekeep without his permission. Not that I would need it, as it better to seek forgiveness than ask permission." Gorion said with a grim look on his face as he turned to Zaram. "I'm afraid Candlekeep is no longer safe for you, child. Go to the tavern and have Winthrop gather your things, we must depart at sunset."

Reevor was going to say something but was stopped by Hull placing a hand on his shoulder. "We can tell him that we fought those two thugs and a fire broke out during the fight, that's why the bodies are burnt. This way Gorion and the boy don't have to be bothered with this. Besides, it looks like Gorion has bigger problems than dealing with Ulraunt about a slightly burnt storeroom..."

 **Hey everyone, hope you enjoyed Chapter 2. Sorry, it took so long, but I've been under a lot of stress lately and both I and my co-writer have been very busy with our respective personal lives. In any case, I'm going to start working on Chapter 3 as soon as possible and hopefully I will be finished soon.**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **TheStoryWizard**


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